Baby Steps
by Sandylee007
Summary: ALPHA/OMEGA VERSE, THUS VERY SLIGHT AU. After Sherlock's fall both he and John struggle with their lives having been turned upside down. What happens when Sherlock finally returns? Will his family still be his? MPREG SLASH Johnlock
1. Alone in a Storm

A/N: THIS IS A REQUEST FIC. A dear reader of mine asked me to write a fic of this type and somehow the idea felt appealing to me, especially set to 'Sherlock' environment'. (grins sheepishly) We'll see just what came out.

WARNINGS: MPREG. SLASH. ALPHA/OMEGA SETTING. (Hey, DO NOT stomp each other on your way out! It's not nice.) Violence. Language. (For a girl I've got a pretty filthy mouth…) Tears and pain. (Pfft, and that's supposed to be a surprise…?) (glances around) Anyone out there?

DISCLAIMER: Oh, much as I'd like to take some credit my name's still not on the golden list of those wonderful people who have given us this fantastic show AND the unforgettable characters. (pouts) I'm just… borrowing them to mess with them for a while. (smirks)

Awkay… I'm a bit nervous right now, so I'll just get to it before I change my mind. I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

* * *

**_Baby Steps_**

* * *

Alone in a Storm

* * *

/ _When John came back from the war, invalided and with no clue of what his future might be like – if he even had a future at all – he imagined that his life, in all sense that mattered, was over. Oh, how wrong a soul can be. It was only just beginning._

_A trick of fickle fate led him to a laboratory where a strikingly good looking man with dark hair and the most amazing eyes he'd ever seen was conducting some sort of a experiment. The man's scent sent pleasant shivers absolutely everywhere in John's body, nearly made him lose his breath. That's why he knew, even before they looked at each other properly._

_Definitely a Alpha. Everything about that posture, spirit and whole essence screamed so, even louder than the scent a unmated Omega caught all too easily. Wild, untamed, unashamed. In a society where most people still considered Alphas and Omegas something unnatural and disgusting this being made no attempt whatsoever to hide his true colors. John had absolutely no idea of what to make of such foolish bravery when he'd spent all his life trying to hide from what he truly was. Trying to smother the urges that were enough to drive him to the edge of insanity. Enough to send him to a war, just so that he could escape. He'd decided that he'd rather die than live as what he truly was._

_Yet here John was and he knew that his run was over. Unable to take a single step away when the stranger sniffed the air subtly, so that only the doctor's keen eyes caught it, then shivered from apparent pleasure. John was hooked, from the very second those eyes locked with his. Something in them told him that he wasn't alone with the thought. John barely managed to focus while he was introduced to the enigma._

_The air was thick with something John had never experienced before. It wasn't bonding, couldn't possibly be. While it scared him senseless he didn't think that he'd find the strength and will to walk away from it._

_The pills he'd been swallowing since hitting his first heat were supposed to suppress John's Omega instincts. He could've as well been consuming candy. Because it most definitely wasn't his human side that agreed to move in with this Alpha he'd never even seen before. After just a glimpse into those eyes, after a single inhale of that goddamn scent, it didn't matter the slightest bit that he'd always told himself that he didn't want this. That most of the society would never, ever understand or accept. All he knew was that he wanted to – needed to – explore whatever the hell this was further._

_John's brain didn't manage to pay attention to the obvious until the stranger was already leaving. "I don't even know your name." He didn't even have a name yet he was willing to share his living space with this Alpha. Willing to jump right into everything he'd been running from._

_Somehow the fear and hesitation in him were pushed into the background when the stranger flashed him a cheeky grin and winked. "The name's Sherlock Holmes." The Alpha's scent lingered in the room long after the male left, taunting him._

_And so John found himself standing there, all alone and without the slightest clue of what in the world just happened. A beast inside he'd already thought he'd smothered was stirring to life, very loudly. So wildly that he felt ready to yelp under the pressure. He shifted, all of a sudden finding the front of his pants uncomfortably tight, and wondered what in the world he just got himself into._

_If he just made a huge mistake or the best thing in his life._ /

* * *

Dr. John Watson couldn't look away from the tombstone although it was the last thing he wanted to see. He kept staring and staring, hoping and praying that the sick nightmare would finally end. That Sherlock Holmes would finally reappear after the grand conclusion of his most magnificent magic trick thus far.

_Please…! A one more…_

Ice cold rain kept falling while he stood there, still as a statue. Shaking right down to the core of his being with how hard he was trying to hold himself together. John actually wished that he would've been able to cry, to scream, so that at least some of the venom in his veins would've poured out. As it was he could barely breathe.

In the end John's lips opened but the words echoed only inside his head.

_Stop this, right now! Stop… being…!_

A tiny breath, at least, finally erupted when all of a sudden something was shielding him from the merciless rain. A umbrella. He shivered, for this one moment of bliss allowing himself to think of the impossible. But this wasn't his Alpha's scent.

Mycroft Holmes' eyes were unreadable while the man looked sternly back at him. "Come on now, John. Do you really think that he'd want you to stand here and get yourself ill?"

John's eyes narrowed viciously. Anger and hurt boiled in his veins. "He never asked me if I wanted him to jump down from that fucking building right before my eyes, did he?" His voice broke, which only succeeded in feeding his rage. He was sick and tired of this ache! "He'll never have any say over what I do ever again, Mycroft."

Mycroft sighed and for a second, just a second, there was something close to sadness in the man's eyes. It could've been a trick of his imagination, though. "I can't leave you here, either. Whatever my brother told you I do happen to have a touch of humanity in me."

John shrugged, his eyes once again on the stone. He didn't have it in him to fight. Besides, if he'd unleashed all the bitterness there was swirling inside him…

And so they stood, two soldiers at the ruins of a lost battle. Or well, only one of them thought that the war was already over. Only one of them grieved. (Only one of them knew the truth.)

John never realized that with the umbrella the moisture on his cheeks couldn't possibly be the rain anymore.

* * *

When John finally made his way back home, hours and hours later, he did two things. He destroyed a great deal of Sherlock's research equipment, in a bout of childish and ridiculous wrath imagining that it might make a difference. Then he dashed into the bathroom and threw up, over and over again. He didn't think that he'd ever stop feeling sick.

* * *

After Sherlock's death John didn't expect to hit another heat anytime soon, possibly ever. But when he'd been throwing up for five days without any other obvious signs of a stomach flue he began to ponder the chance of a impossibility. He dismissed the thought quickly.

He was allowed to feel sick after the suicide of his mate, he decided.

That was until he woke up, disoriented and dizzy, to find Dr. Sarah Sawyer staring back at him.

John frowned, only the fact that everything was spinning madly keeping him from attempting to sit up. "What happened?" His voice was absolutely pathetic.

Sarah's jaw tightened. "You crashed on your way out of a surgery." She held up three fingers. Or so he assumed. "How many?"

John licked his lips, hesitating for a second before taking his chance. "Three…?" Good, talking was becoming easier. He didn't sound pass out drunk anymore.

Nodding with a infuriatingly unreadable expression Sarah made some notes, then focused on him once more. There was a frown on her face. "John, I need you to be perfectly honest with me now. When's the last time you slept properly?"

John twitched with discomfort, needing to look away. "You know the answer to that one", he murmured, struggling to keep himself from sounding overly hostile. Nightmares of Sherlock smashing to the pavement kept John awake every single night.

Sarah exhaled a heavy sigh. He heard her write down before the ten seconds of pause it took her to collect herself. "What about eating?"

John was beginning to feel like a child who was being scolded over bad manners. He squirmed, wishing that he would've found the strength to get up and walk away. "I… ate something this morning." A flatout lie and he didn't even know why he bothered, for he was almost sure that Sarah was already on to him. Nausea and general dislike towards even the thought of stuffing anything into his mouth caused him to skip far more meals than would've been healthy.

Sarah gave him a flat, clearly annoyed look. "Don't try that with me. You've always been a horrible liar." She sighed and ran a slightly unsteady hand through her disheveled hair. "Look, John… It's been six weeks…"

A flare shot through John and his eyes narrowed when the pain became too much to bear. A wince revealed tightly gritted teeth. "Six weeks, three days and if I'd know what time it is I'd be able to tell you the hours. I know precisely how long it's been." In an instant he regretted his harsh tone and gave her an apologetic look. In that moment of sheer agony it took long to remember that Sherlock's decision wasn't her fault. "I'm sorry."

She gave him a slight smile. "Actually, I was prepared for much worse." She then inhaled, looking directly to his eyes. "The thing is… You need to start to take care of yourself. There's two you need to think about, now."

It took a prolonged eternity before her words crashed to John's consciousness. When they finally did he gasped, feeling like someone had just smacked all breath out of him, and trembled. Instinctively his hand rose to his stomach. "It's…! I can't be…" _Not _now_!_

Sarah's eyes widened. "Oh, John…! I'm so sorry! I thought you knew…"

John couldn't even hear her. Couldn't focus on anything but the news that'd just been rammed to his brain. His hand trembled while he pressed tighter, tried even though he knew that there was no way he'd be able to feel the life in there yet.

He was pregnant.

His mate just abandoned him.

He was pregnant.

This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of his life.

He was _pregnant_.

Sherlock would never know, would never get to see their child.

That gloomy thought hit him like a sledgehammer. He didn't burst into tears. Instead he did something far more heartbreaking.

He emitted a agonized, mourn filled wail that most likely carried through most of the hospital.

* * *

Far away and all too familiar with the distance a lone figure stood in a elevator that was fast on its way down. Fingers drumming, the whole being sizzling with a nearly uncontrollable storm. Sherlock Holmes' eyes were fire and venom.

Of course he knew exactly what he was missing out on. He'd known that John was pregnant a week before his fateful decision – his mate's scent changed, as did something deep within Sherlock. That's what pushed him to this painful path.

If dying was what it took to keep his mate and child safe then that's what he'd do. He could only hope and pray that John would understand. That he hadn't lost everything, after all. That one day he'd get the chance to go back and explain to his family.

That thought, that hope, was the only thing linking him to whatever little sanity he still had left.

Sherlock's eyes flashed when the elevator gave a small 'bing'. He had exactly two seconds to prepare himself before the doors opened. He took a deep breath, summoning a mental image of John's face, then tightened his hold on the gun that'd been ready since the faked fall.

It was time to take the first step on his journey back home.

* * *

TBC, OR NOT?

* * *

A/N: Oh, those two. They're in for a tough ride. (winces) We'll see just how this all turns out.

But, now… I'm giving to choice into your hands, folks. Should this story live and flourish, or be buried and never spoken of again? PLEASE, leave a note and let me know! First chapters are always nerve wrecking so I'd love to hear from you guys. (gives puppy's eyes)

Thank you so much for reading thus far! Who knows, maybe I'll be seeing you again one day. (glances hopefully)

Take care!


	2. Heartbeat

A/N: Okay, so… Wow! I could've never expect that a story with this rather rare consept could possibly get this much love. Yet there you are; all those reviews and listings. (BEAMS) You can't even imagine how happy you've made me. So thank you! (hugs) At the moment I'm nursing a rather annoying case of cold so your support means the world to me.

Awkay, people… Because my time is scarce this very morning and I don't want to chicken out, let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

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Heartbeat

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/ _John had known from the very first second that his new flatmate was definitely something else. Yet he didn't get a proper picture until they entered the detective's flat that'd soon be theirs. The doctor blinked twice, taking in all the items around him._

_Research equipment. A skull. Some bizarre objects he was much happier with not knowing more throughoutly. The whole place looked like a bomb had blown up there. Yet for some inexplainable reason John felt like he'd just come home._

_A very slight smile made its way to John's face. "You don't clean up a lot, do you?" His tone was oddly soft, almost fond._

_Sherlock shrugged. And all of a sudden he was much too familiar with just how close to him the other man was. That goddamn scent was taking over absolutely all of his consciousness and he didn't know how long… "Is that a problem?"_

_John swallowed and shivered slightly. Something primal was stirring inside of him, arousing a warm hue to his cheeks and making him feel like he didn't fit into his skin anymore. He couldn't be anything but honest. "No."_

_He felt Sherlock's eyes on him. There was no telling what the detective might've said if a new set of steps hadn't entered the flat just then. Neither of them noticed how the Alpha stepped so that one of the taller man's shoulders was shielding John before they saw a smiling, kind looking elderly woman. "Hello, there. You must be John." They shook hands. Her grip was stronger than he'd expected. "I'm Mrs. Hudson. Welcome to Baker Street."_

_John couldn't help but return the smile. His shoulders relaxed. "Thank you."_

_Mrs. Hudson smiled even brighter, a warm, almost maternal look appearing into her eyes. "I'm so pleased that Sherlock managed to find such a charming mate. You'll do him a lot of good, dear."_

_John… could've sworn that his heart exploded there, just a little bit. Radiant heat crept up to his cheeks and suddenly he found himself nearly choking on his very breath. "I… No, we're not…", he sputtered. "I'm just a flatmate."_

_Mrs. Hudson blinked once, not a hint of embarrassment on her face. "Oh? That's certainly a pity." Mercifully they all heard a phone ringing just then. She flashed him a one more smile. "Well, welcome. Don't hesitate to ask me if you ever need anything, alright?" She cast a warning look towards Sherlock. "And you, behave. If you torment this kind man I'll smack you myself." John had no doubt that she'd do just that. With those words she left._

_As soon as she was gone Sherlock looked towards him. It was impossible to read the look in those eyes. "Her thinking that we're… together… It bothered you."_

_John gave the detective a incredulous look. "Well, of course it did!"_

_Sherlock frowned, appearing throughoutly lost. "Why, exactly, is that such a huge deal to you?" The tone was genuinely confused._

_John was surprised to hear a brief, slightly choked chuckle erupt through his suddenly choked throat. His arms flailed helplessly while he wondered how in the world he was supposed to explain this. "We… We just met! We know barely a thing about each other. I'm not… I'm not comfortable with being mistaken for being the mate of a stranger."_

_Sherlock's eyes flashed with something John had never seen before. The man stepped closer, leaned over him so that for a moment their cheeks were only millimetres apart – only to grab a coat. "Well, get ready then", the detective whispered into his ear, without a doubt purposefully making sure that he felt the warm breath. "We're going out."_

_John blinked rapidly, the tension from before almost enough to make him explode by then. It took all he had not to gasp. What in the world was this Alpha doing to him? Hadn't he taken enough medication to keep his body from reacting this way? But the Omega inside was far too strong to resist this temptation. And perhaps, just perhaps, the human side was as well. John shivered and took a step to follow. "Where are we going?"_

_Sherlock shrugged once more. The detective was already almost out of the apartment. "I'm taking you to a dinner. You need to be fed, correct? Now hurry up. Afterwards we have a case calling."_

_John stood stock-still for exactly three seconds, only able to stare. Then did the only thing he could. He followed, his heart thumping furiously for reasons he could only begin to guess. _/

* * *

Even in the deepest bottom of grief the baby managed to keep John's mind occupied by the world of the living. The little one was keeping him busy with ridiculous moodswings that caused several interns at the hospital to fear him, bouts of nausea that made him sure that he'd throw up his very intestines and inexplainable cravings. Such as cold beef.

The baby was quite obviously taking after Sherlock.

The weeks that scrolled by after he found out that he was pregnant were confusing, exciting and almost unbearably painful for John. Both the human and the Omega inside him rejoiced over the new life, couldn't wait to see what kind of a being the baby would be. But while the Omega was beginning to prepare itself the human still grieved, spent night after night dreaming of impossible joy and of the most horrific thing that'd ever happened to him. Both sides were hurt and abandoned, the wounds were deep and raw. The Omega reacted to the Alpha's absence the only way it knew how. He became furiously protective over the frail beginning of life, over the only non-material thing he had left of Sherlock. There was a lot to protect his child from in a environment where most people frowned with disgust as soon as they learned of his curious condition. The press, still hot on the story of 'a fake detective and his gullibleOmega', only added the tension. To them John wasn't a pregnant person grieving the loss of the love of his life. He was a freak about to pop out another one. A great deal of the fury in John wasn't directed at those pitiable, ignorant people, though. His rage found a home in Sherlock. His Alpha was supposed to be there to protect them! To make their family whole! How the hell could the detective just… _leave_?

The stress was taking its toll on John. He wasn't eating or resting like he was supposed to, which did nothing to make his high risk pregnancy easier. During the first week after discovering that he was with a child he had such violent cramps that thrice he was sure that he'd lose the most precious thing he'd ever had. Every day he braced himself for the thought that the whole ordeal might not end happily. That's why it took three weeks before he managed to convince himself to take the next step.

And like too many things in his life he had to do it alone.

John was trembling right down to the core of his being and had to suppress his roaring, far from human instincts when his obstetrician – a very nice woman in her late thirties with long, neatly tied red hair and warm brown eyes named Mary – approached him with a small device and smeared gell on it. "Alright, then…", she murmured in a gentle tone. "Let's see who's causing all this ruckus, shall we? This may feel a little cool."

It took absolutely all John had not to lash out, to not let defense mechanisms take over, when she pressed the ice cold item on his stomach and began to shift it around slowly. He already revealed a threatening row of teeth until the sound met his ears. His eyes grew impossibly wide as realization dawned.

Steady, rhythmic thumping. Very fast. Extremely determined. After a couple of seconds' shock tears welled into his eyes.

The baby's heartbeat. A clear, solid sign that there was indeed someone growing inside him.

For a moment, just a moment, John could've sworn that he felt Sherlock right there beside him. He managed to imagine that familiar, comforting scent. That feeling helped him smile ever so slightly through the tears.

_See, Sherlock? This is what we made. This is what you left behind._

The baby's heartbeat kept echoing in the room, seeping right into John's own heart and filling him with something he could've never even imagined.

* * *

Sherlock's heart thumped so loudly that the beat was left echoing into his badly throbbing skull while he sat in a chair, gritting his teeth so hard that it hurt while pain washed through his battered body. He barely registered the taste of blood that filled his mouth. His whole concentration was forced on the pair of ice blue eyes staring right back at him.

"You really should've stayed dead, Sherlock." The voice held a thick Russian accent. The young, tall and badly scarred man before him folded his arms. Grigori Romanov. One of Moriarty's less used minions. A very skilled assassin. Crazy and dangerous, the type the criminal mastermind liked. "Would've saved us the trouble."

Sherlock's response was spitting blood right at the other man's face. The Russian's comeback was a swift, merciless right hook aimed directly and flawlessly at his face. The impact made stars dance in Sherlock's line of vision but he struggled, desperate to remain alert. The fight was worth it. Turning his back on him – clearly deciding that he was no longer worthy of the assassin's attention – Grigori took a cell phone and dialed numbers. Sherlock's head was swimming, swaying and about to shut down but with the sheer power of determination he was able to catch the name on the screen.

Harvey Waylens.

"It's me. I have have news. When can we meet?"

Sherlock shivered with anticipation, not paying much attention to Grigori's conversation. He was getting closer. Harvey was one of Moriarty's class B men, nowhere near as valuable as the top dogs but still a good catch. His next target.

While Grigori kept talking Sherlock's wrist moved, smoothly and swiftly, to reveal a fine, slender blade he'd managed to keep hidden in a concealed pocket he'd sewed to the sleeve of his new jacket.

* * *

Eventually John was able to actually feel the baby. Not quite kicks yet. More like squirming, or fluttering. While it made him nauseous it was also the most beautiful thing he'd ever experienced.

Well, most of the time, anyway. Because no matter how much he loved being able to feel his child it was driving him insane while he paced around the flat at two o'clock in the morning. How wonderful. So the baby had decided to inherit Sherlock's sleeping habits along with all else.

"Oh, little one…", John sighed a little desperately, fighting between the urges to laugh and cry hysterically. Perhaps he was dangling close to the edge of insanity. "It's… It's going to be just the two of us so we'll have to make this work. We need to cooperate. Alright? You… You're going to have to let me sleep. Please. Just a couple of hours. That's all I'm asking."

All of a sudden his eyes swept towards Sherlock's violin, which he hadn't touched since the detective's death. At that very second the fluttering inside him got ten times stronger, like the little one had been planning on breaking out. The realization brought a great deal of moisture into John's eyes.

He swallowed thickly, sick and tired of tears but too exhausted and hormonal to fight them. "You miss him, too, don't you?" He took a long, shuddering breath, rubbing soothing circles to his belly that refused to swell. "I wish he was here, too. If… If there was anything I could do I'd bring him back to us. You need to believe that. I… I'd do anything to have him with us."

The baby kept squirming, either not believing him or far too anxious to calm down. It was at that desperate moment John remembered another item that lay nearby. A tape recorder he used to use at work.

Once upon a time he recorded some violin music, for during several nights it seemed to be the only thing that soothed Sherlock enough to allow the detective to rest. If this child was as much like his Alpha as he thought maybe the same trick would work. He was definitely exhausted enough to give it a shot.

Taking a deep breath John grabbed the recorder, then sunk to a nearby armchair and pressed 'play', bringing the device right above his belly. For a moment the baby roamed around even more, obviously not understanding what was going on, but then the movements began to slow before stopping altogether. While the most beautiful violin music filled the room the child finally fell asleep, under its daddy's protective hand.

Half an hour later John fell asleep as well, some tears on his cheeks.

* * *

Once John himself began to feel the baby it didn't take long before the new life could be felt on the outside. That raised a brand new issue. Those people who didn't recoil once discovering what was in there seemed to consider his still pathetically tiny bulge common property. His Omega side didn't like the amount of attention his unborn child was getting. The message was finally received when a particularly intrusive male nurse gained a glorious black eye after groping his abdomen without even asking for a permission, causing the tiny being inside to panic. Since then no near stranger had dared to touch him. His friends, of course, were a whole different story, no matter how much it annoyed him sometimes.

John was surprised but not exactly disapleased when he found as familiar person waiting for him as he left work one evening. A smile rose to his face. "Hi. I thought you were supposed to work late today."

DI Greg Lestrade shrugged. "Some other day, then." The man shifted weight to another leg. "I was wondering if you'd feel up to going to eat something with me."

Truthfully John was exhausted, especially since he'd just told a single mother that there was nothing they could've done to save her five-year-old daughter. But it was a long time since he last spent time with his friends. Maybe this would do him good. "That sounds lovely."

Half an hour later found them sitting in a not quite fancy but cosy small restaurant. Greg's eyebrow bounced up when a rather attractive, dark featured man of John's age gave the doctor a long, heavily suggestive look while passing by. "Another Alpha?"

John shuddered and nodded, poking his food. Since Sherlock's death other Alphas had began circling around him with curiosity, obviously discovering that he was available. Only the baby kept them at arm's length – no Alpha wanted to raise another's offspring. He swallowed thickly, feeling a bout of nausea when the baby began to kick. "Yeah. And the little one doesn't seem to like the… attention, either."

Greg's eyes lit up. As a divorced Beta with no children the DI didn't have any first hand experience on these matters. Of course the man was curious. "Can I… try?"

John would've denied most people. But something about Greg's eyes softened his defenses and he nodded. Somehow it didn't feel like words were needed.

Eager, curious and mildly wary Greg outstretched a tentative hand, pressing it against the scarcely visible swell. At first the man frowned, appearing disappointed with the lack of reaction. Then the DI's eyes widened to a comical extend when the baby delivered a sharp, furious kick right at the man's hand. '_Back off!_' "Holy dam…!" Greg choked out, quickly pulling the hand away. "That's Sherlock's kid, alright."

John did something he hadn't managed to do since his mate's death. For a second he stared, processing. Then, despite the crushing grief waving inside, burst into a small yet honest laugh.

* * *

Sherlock stumbled while making his way through constantly darkening streets, his arms folded tightly and pressed against aching, screaming ribs that'd just sustained a lot more abuse than they should've been able to endure. He knew that he would've needed a hospital but in his current situation that was out of the question. This time he was really, truly all alone.

Sherlock barely remained on his feet while he entered the tiny, reeking bathroom of his newest hideout, pointedly looking away from the mirror. He knew that his face was a mess even without seeing it – he'd startled a couple of people on the streets. Absolutely all of his body and soul ached while he ran a hot bath, shaking so badly that he almost fell down. Sinking into the warm water two minutes later he felt something he last faced when standing on the edge of a hospital's rooftop, looking down at John.

Helpless rage.

How far along was John already? Because he was quickly losing the track of days, weeks, months. Were his mate and baby doing alright? Were they safe?

_I'd be there if I could. You believe that, don't you? You have to believe in me._

Sherlock winced when the water and the soap he'd just taken stung a particularly nasty cut. A tremor crossed him. So he'd need stitches again. Several new wounds that'd soon turn into scars sneered back at him.

His exhausted mind summoned him a picture of John's face. He could still recall every single detail. Every last bit.

Just when a choked and shuddering, tightly restrained breath escaped Sherlock sunk right under, futilely hoping that the water would wipe his mind blank. Bubbles rose to the surface while he screamed without a breath, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

* * *

At that exact same second Mrs. Hudson's eyes flew open when she woke up to a tiny, seemingly harmless thud. Her still half asleep head whirred for a second before making the necessary connections. Something was wrong.

Feeling far colder than she should've with how warm the apartment was she climbed out of the bed, then followed her instincts to a more than familiar door. She knocked softly, not really wanting to disturb John's sleep if the poor doctor had finally found some rest. In the end the nagging warning in the back of her head was too strong to resist.

_I'm sorry about this, John._

Making sure that John would detect her if he was awake – trying not to startle the pregnant Omega – she made her way into the dark apartment. The quiet that greeted her was eerie, unnatural. Made her quicken her steps. In the end her feet led her to what used to be Sherlock's bedroom. What she discovered brought cold shivers through her whole body.

John lay on the bed, on top of covers, his eyes closed and his face unnaturally pale. There was a light frown on the doctor's face, loud evidence of pain or a nightmare. One hand was pressed protectively against the barely visible bulge. A tape recorder had fallen from his grasp to the floor, which was most likely the cause of the sound that woke her up. For a moment Mrs. Hudson thought that he'd simply fallen asleep. But then her eyes strayed downwards and widened.

There, below the lower part of John's body, was a dark, ominous pool.

It took Mrs. Hudson only a moment to realize that it was blood.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh, gosh…! Those poor things. Let's hope that John won't end up losing the baby. It'd definitely destroy him when he's barely hanging in there as it is. (winces)

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? PLEASE, do leave a note before you go to give me a sign. Awww, c'mon, you'd make my lil' heart swell with joy.

Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll all join in then.

Take care!

* * *

**SD**: It warms my heart that you believe in this story so. (beams like a sunshine) I'll try my very hardest not to let you down.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

**XxloveslossxX**: Oh, how thrilled I am to hear that you're enjoying this one! I truly hope that the next one won't be any less exciting.

Massive thank yous for the review!

* * *

**pat**: I'm so happy to hear that you think so! (beams) I hope that the next one won't let you down, either.

Poor John indeed! (hugs the poor thing) He really has it rough. It'd be so cool to have those two reunited. I bet that Sherlock would love to look after his pregnant Omega. (sighs)

Huge thank yous for the review!


	3. A Shattered Family

A/N: The flue's finally getting it's arse served, which means that I'm FINALLY almost back to my full ability to function. (grins) Hooray?

Before going on with the story, though! MASSIVE thank yous for all your love and support! I could've never imagined that this story would receive so much affection. (beams) You guys rock! So thank you! (hugs)

Awkay… (takes a breath) Right now my head's buzzing like crazy so I'd better let this baby on the loose before it slips from my mind. I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

Could it be that the labor day has arrived early this year…?

* * *

A Shattered Family

* * *

/ _You never get to know someone quite as throughoutly as you do when you live with them. John learned this the hard way during the first weeks he spent with Sherlock. There were fights. There was deducing. There were fascinating, disturbing and mesmerizing conversations, sometimes in the middle of the night when John was supposed to wake up for a morning shift yet couldn't bring himself to retreat for rest. There were experiments, some of which John deemed hazardous to the health of everyone in the building. There was a great deal of tension that was nearly enough to bring the doctor to the edge of his sanity. There were severed body parts in a their fridge. John wasn't sure if he was losing his mind or finally starting to truly live. If he was perfectly honest he didn't even care. Because most of the time he was finally truly content._

_Most of the time, excluding for example one rainy night when he was still up at three in the morning, listening to Sherlock pacing, muttering and banging things._

_In the end John decided that enough was enough. Muttering darkly under his breath and already longing the warmth of his bed he got up, sauntering to the living room. Sure enough his flatmate was there, clearly focused intently on something._

_John cast a dry look towards the Alpha. "Dare I ask?" No, he probably shouldn't have._

_Sherlock's eyes narrowed. The pacing, if possible, became even more agitated. "That bloody murder keeps bugging me. Those stabbed girls… They were hiding something, John. I'm telling you. It's right here." The detective tapped the side of his head with a unsteady finger. "But I can't access it."_

_John sighed heavily, all dreams of decent rest forgotten. His feet weighed a ton while he began to make his way towards the kitchen. "You won't be able to force it out like that. You're going to get yourself a migraine again."_

_Sherlock gave him a heated look. The detective reminded him of a pouting child. "I don't have migraines."_

_Fighting the urge to throw a fit John took two mugs. "How about a cuppa? Maybe it'll help you think more clearly."_

_By some miracle Sherlock actually agreed with him for once. Ten minutes later they were sitting more or less calmly at their kitchen table, neither noticing that their legs were only millimetres from touching under the table. It felt… surprisingly natural for John._

_So far John relaxed that his mouth began to work free of his will. "Sherlock… Have you ever had a mate?"_

_That seemed to surprise the detective. Sharp eyes lingered on him for a long moment before Sherlock shook his head. "No. It's… never been a notable thought before."_

_John's eyebrow bounced up. He told himself that the heat on his cheeks was caused by the tea. It took a moment before he managed to gather his courage enough to ask more. "But it is now?" A shrug seemed to be the only response he'd get. He couldn't bring himself to stop asking, though. "Have you ever thought about having a family?"_

_Sherlock appeared almost amused. "I'm an Alpha, John. It's built into my DNA that I desire to have offsprings, children with my genes." The detective's head was tilted slightly and John felt like he'd been a bug under a microscope. "What about you?"_

_John gave a brief, slightly bitter chuckle. "I ran off to the army to escape… who I am. I've never been emotionally attached enough to anyone for that thought to even cross my head." He shrugged and folded his arms. "I've never really wanted children so I forgot about the whole idea."_

_Sherlock shook his head, seeming very sure of himself. As always. "No, you've never forgotten. I can see it in your eyes. You'll be a good parent for our children."_

_John's left eyebrow twitched. "I'm not your mate, Sherlock. And I refuse to bear children."_

_Sherlock merely shrugged, taking a long sip of tea. "Perhaps, for now. But I like the challenge."_

_John should've been insulted. Should've hissed a retort. Instead he burst into a laughter. _/

* * *

John remembered going to bed, with the tape recorder prepared to help his once again antsy little one find some sleep. He remembered a massive headache and nausea that brought him to the edge of throwing up. He didn't, however, recall falling asleep.

And then he woke up in a hospital.

Panic striking through John fumbled, his hand finding its way quickly to his tiny bump. There was… nothing. No movement. Not even the slightest trace of the life that'd been there before he passed out. His eyes widened while such pain he'd only felt once before flowed right through, hard enough to make him shudder. A heartbreaking, far from human wail of sheer agony slipped through his lips while tears filled his eyes.

He failed.

All of a sudden a familiar hand was holding his, squeezing comfortingly. "Calm down, John." Mrs. Hudson appeared tired but there was a slight smile on her face. "Your doctor said that all the stress isn't doing you or the baby any good."

Cautious, dangerous hope began to rise inside John. He licked his lips, the protective hand he'd pressed on his abdomen squeezing just a little bit tighter. "You mean…?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded, her smile widening slightly. "The little one's got your fighting spirit, thank heavens. It was a close call but if there are no further complications you'll get to go home in a couple of days." She glanced fondly towards his stomach. "The baby is resting right now, which is precisely what you should be doing as well. You've both had far too much excitement. And to be honest so have I."

John swallowed and looked away, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

The squeeze on his hand cut that sentence short. "Stop that one right there, dear. I look after you – _both of you_ – because I chose to. You're not a liability." Her thumb began to rub soothing circles to the back of his hand. "Now sleep. When you wake up we'll have a long conversation over how little you weight and rest."

John would've wanted to tell her to go home. To assure that he'd be okay. But as it was he could only produce a sigh while his eyes slipped closed once more, burning with unshed tears of relief. A one more, slightly bitter thought crossed his head just before he went under.

The hand holding his should've been Sherlock's.

* * *

A couple of days later a pair of keen eyes observed while John climbed out of a black car with a little bit of help from Greg Lestrade. The doctor appeared dangerously pale and unsteady on his feet but there was no mistaking the protective gleam in his eyes, or the way a hand kept shielding the practically unnoticeable swell. The baby was still right there, very much alive. They were both right there, before his very eyes.

And Sherlock would've given anything, absolutely anything, if he would've been able to step away from the shadows and rush all the way to his family. It was a pure accident that he managed to hear that John was in a hospital at all – he found out through one of Moriarty's men, right before he beat the man to death with his bare hands. There'd been a smirk on the criminal's face as those eyes watched how the horrific news sunk in. Since then it'd taken all his willpower not to dash back, just to make sure that his family was alright. But he couldn't. Couldn't when John was still in the hospital, in a desperate need of his Alpha. Couldn't now, with less than twenty-five steps separating them. His job wasn't finished yet. He wasn't ready to stop being dead.

He wasn't the only one observing a certain building at Baker Street.

Turning his gaze ever so slightly Sherlock saw a man of his age with slightly messy dirty-blond hair and a pair of water colored eyes that were fixed far too keenly on his Omega. The man was Jarvis Dubree, Sebastian Moran's right hand. The biggest one Sherlock had gone after so far. This death would send a loud message.

An angel of death and vengeance was after Moriarty's legacy.

It took all his willpower not to look towards John once more before the doctor had disappeared into the building under Greg's protective watch. Walking away from his whole damn world was even harder. Sherlock's steps were soundless when he began to follow Jarvis as soon as the man was on the move.

* * *

Days blurred together. Turned into weeks. Weeks bled into months. Through complications, several more tips to the hospital and three false alarms John, with vigour he just couldn't explain, kept hanging on. So did his baby.

The sea of grief, anger and longing inside him transformed into something far more productive when he finally began to show properly. There was a lot he needed to take care of and he didn't have the slightest clue of what, exactly, he was doing. He spent every waken moment preparing, worrying and wondering just what he'd forgotten. A crib, toys, formula, wash clothes… He was panicking. Greg, Sarah and Mrs. Hudson claimed that he was nesting.

He was three weeks from the due to date when Greg stopped by unannounced. John wasn't irritated. His friends had been making these spontaneous visits a lot since his first trip to the hospital. While they were annoying he also found these checkups endearing. It felt good to know that even without his Alpha he wasn't alone worrying about the tiny life growing inside of him. Besides, if he was honest with himself he could use some company. The apartment was horribly large and lonely without Sherlock.

Greg's eyebrow bounced up when the man noticed the equipment spread all over the apartment. A knowing look appeared to the DI's face. "Cleaning up again, John?"

John flashed his friend a slightly embarrassed look. "Hi. I… wasn't expecting company." Although he should've. He cleared his throat. "Would you like some tea?"

Soon they were sitting at the kitchen table and John came to a somewhat startling realization that it was the first time that day he was resting his feet. His doctor wouldn't have been pleased. Neither was the baby. It was kicking and moving around wildly.

Greg seemed to notice. "Is the little one causing a hassle again?" This time the DI didn't reach out a hand. The baby had made his or her point quite clearly the last time.

John nodded, a small frown appearing. _Calm down!_, he summoned towards the baby. Being Sherlock's baby as well the tiny one didn't listen. "This has been going on for hours. And for the past couple of hours I've been having cramps – again."

All of a sudden Greg's eyes widened. Slowly, slowly the man lowered his mug of tea. "John… How far apart are these… cramps?"

John blinked once, wincing when a yet another twinge hit him. "Ten, maybe eight minutes. Why?" And then it dawned on him. His eyes widened. "No! No, no, hell no! It's too early! The baby's not ready yet! And I… I'm not ready, either! I can't…!" He was cut off violently by a brand new contraction, which was even more vicious than the previous ones. A small whimper escaped without him being able to do a thing about it.

Greg seemed to fight between the urges to laugh and have a panic attack. Abandoning the tea completely the DI came to help him up. "Well, it looks like the baby's not agreeing with you. Now come on, we need to get you to a hospital."

John's water broke on their way down the stairs, staining his pants as well as both his and Greg's shoes. (John made a mental promise to make up for the damage as soon as he didn't feel like he'd been torn to pieces.) It took hell a lot longer than it should've before they made it to a car. They left Mrs. Hudson standing by the building's entrance, a look of terror on her face and one hand clutching the hem of her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

By the time they actually made it to the hospital the birth was definitely fast in progress. The contractions were far closer to one another and hell a lot more painful than before. John was squeezing Greg's hand so tightly that the poor limb probably nearly fractured while the DI dragged him inside, screaming for a doctor.

After a lot of hassle hands that felt safe were guiding John to a wheelchair. Soothing words were spoken but the doctor only caught a few of them. "Calm down. Focus on breathing. In, out." He didn't have the slightest clue if they were talking to him or Greg.

His Omega instincts kicked in full force when they took him to a uncomfortably brightly lit room and pushed a oxygen mask to his face, then injected him with something that made him drowsy almost instantly. He was, however, too weak and in too much pain to put up a lot of fight. Incoherent, calming words guided him on as he began to lose the fight against darkness.

"Sherlock…", was all he managed to murmur before medication swept him under.

* * *

Sherlock winced while cleaning up a brand new gunshot wound on his arm, his whole body shaking under a storm of pain and adrenaline. It was just a graze, he told himself, and he couldn't have showed it to a doctor, anyway. A doctor would've called the police, and the police would've asked questions he couldn't answer. So he'd just have to suck it up and deal with it.

When did he close his eyes?

As Sherlock's eyes flew open once more the hideout around him was already dark, full of shadows. He was fine with them. Shadows were what kept him hidden, until it'd be safe to go back home once more.

He took a breath and tested his transport, pleased to discover that he was able to rise from where he'd been sitting on a floor without feeling like collapsing or throwing up. It wasn't until then he noticed that his cell phone, which lay a slight distance away, was flashing to let him know that he'd received a new text message. He took the item cautiously with a frown on his face. His whole being turned cold when he discovered that the message was from Mycroft.

His brother wasn't supposed to use this number. At least not unless it was a case of emergency. What if…? He'd opened the message long before that thought was finished. The words greeting him swept his whole amazing mind blank.

'_Congratulations. You have a son._'

It was the first time in forever the mighty machine called Sherlock Holmes burst into tears.

* * *

The hospital room was already dark when the medication John had been given wore off enough to allow him some coherence. He was in pain. Terrified. Lonely. And elated.

Apparently his son was very, very small but healthy. Barring any complications he'd be able to take his child home in no time. Home, where it'd be just the two of them.

With a little help from a nurse he finally got to hold his son for the first time. Through almost spilling tears he managed to smile slightly when the baby yawned, a tiny hand reaching out towards him. Instinctively responding to the request he pulled the child even closer, ignoring the fact that it irritated his stitches.

"Welcome to the world, little one", he managed to choke out. He paid no attention to the fact that the nurse left. All that existed to him was the baby in his arms. His baby. His son. His beautiful, small and perfect son. Without him even noticing a couple of tears spilled while he pressed a tender kiss to the top of the child's head. And there, in that moment of bliss and bittersweet joy, his mind summoned him a picture of Sherlock. He winced, something much more agonizing than the new surgical wound flooding through.

"You're the most amazing thing I've ever seen", he choked out. Unable and unwilling to stop himself he rubbed the baby's cheek gently with his thumb. The child seemed to like it. "It's… It's going to be just the two of us, and I'm only an Omega. But… I'll do absolutely everything I can to make sure that you're safe. I promise. I… I love you, more than anything else in this world. More than I've loved anything in my entire life. Don't ever doubt that."

This… This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He never actually dreamt of having kids. He sure as hell never imagined having to raise one all by himself, without his Alpha by his side. He never imagined that Sherlock wouldn't be there to experience _this_.

Well, he hadn't asked for a lot of other things in his life, either.

There, with his son held safely against his chest, John relaxed against the sheets and his pillow, basking in the breathtaking new love that he'd found. Basked, despite the gaping hole in his chest. And missed Sherlock more than he ever had before.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Awww… They have a son! (beams) But it's so sad that those two are still separated. (sniffle, sniffle) Let's hope that they'll get the chance to be reunited soon.

I've really gotta get running now. (pouts) Before you flee as well, please leave a note! I'd seriously like to hear what you've gotta say about this one. Awww, c'mon, now's the perfect moment to do the day's good deed.

Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll stay tuned for that one.

Take care!

* * *

**Guest**: Quite horrible, no? (winces) Let's hope that SOMEONE manages to help John and the baby before it's too late! John would be devastated if he lost the baby. And just imagine how Sherlock would feel. (shudders)

Ah, I'm so thrilled that you've enjoyed the rollercoaster ride thus far! (beams) I really hope that the next one won't be any less satisfactory.

Huge thank yous for the review!


	4. Growing Pains

A/N: 'Almost back on my full groove, folks. (grins) I just realized that I've began to adore this series and mainly the two main characters even more than I did before. I can't explain why; perhaps it's all the typing I've been doing. I've sooooo happy that they've finally started filming the new season! (beams)

Awkay, back to the point. Firstly, thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews! They're precious, you know? (HUGS)

Before I'll chicken out completely, let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy this roller coaster.

* * *

Growing Pains

* * *

/ _Sherlock and John had both lived great deals of their lives on their own. Only looking after themselves. Alone or lonely, is up for debate. That's why settling into a shared apartment wasn't exactly easy, especially with their unique traits and John's steely determination to fight against his urges. An explosion was waiting to happen. It finally took place during the long hours of one cold night._

_For the first time since his time in a war John woke up to the sounds of gunshots. He bounced up in his bed, his eyes wide and panting heavily, his whole body fully prepared for a fight. While his eyes darted around frantically another gunshot rang. His heart stilled for a second._

_What the hell was going on?_

_Too worked up to even pause to consider the risks John was moving, using all his willpower to convince himself that he wasn't in Afganistan anymore. That he'd left the warzone behind. That he wasn't going to get another fucking bullet right through his flesh._

_A one last shot echoed just as he made it to the scene of the event. Fury lit up in his eyes when he discovered Sherlock with a gun held far too flimsily in one hand, shooting at a wall with a absolutely horrific aiming. Adrenaline rolled through his veins while he bellowed, marching closer against his better judgement. "Sherlock, what the bloody hell do you think you're doing? Do you even realize that it's the middle of the night?"_

_Sherlock shrugged. There wasn't a shred of remorse in the Alpha's eyes. "I was bored."_

_John grabbed the gun, which the detective handed over readily, and made sure that the safety was on before refocusing on his target of rage. "You could've seriously hurt someone! Do you understand that? What if…?"_

_And then he couldn't emit another word. Because all of a sudden Sherlock's was so close that it made his breath catch into his throat. Feeling him. _Sniffing_ him._

_John's eyes widened and he swallowed although his mouth felt uncomfortably dry. Several parts of his body reacted without his permission. "What…?"_

_Was Sherlock… purring? "You're close to your heat", the detective murmured right into his ear, sending shivers of pleasure through him. The detective's eager teeth were entirely too close to his neck._

_John fidgeted. He tried to move away but realized that even a single muscle wasn't under his command anymore. His poor heart felt ready to burst. "I… I can't be. I've been taking suppressants…"_

_Then Sherlock's lips were on his and he couldn't utter another sound. Demanding. Exploring. Invading. Sucking him into something he'd never, ever experienced before. The heat of the moment swept John away completely for a moment and he moaned into the detective's mouth, his body arching closer. His head beginning to turn so that his throat was almost bared to the Alpha._

_In a flash his human side took over, though. Inhaling a breath that made him feel dizzy John took a step further although a massive part of him screamed against it. Once again his eyes narrowed but the confusion fueled anger wasn't really targeted at Sherlock. "No. Just NO. We're not dealing with this now. I have to be up and able to work in four hours, do you understand? So please, stop messing with my head and destroying the apartment." The doctor fidgeted, as though hesitating, still a touch too close to Sherlock's scent. Then cleared his throat and whirled around, beginning to walk away. "Well, goodnight."_

_John felt Sherlock's eyes on him as he made his way towards his room. What he didn't see was the smirk on the detective's face, the twinkle in those eyes, the revealed row of perfect white teeth. Oh, they were far from done. Sherlock could smell it in the air._ /

* * *

Going home with his tiny son was terrifying for John. He no longer had a team of medical professionals around him to make sure that he wouldn't end up accidentally killing his child. Nor did he have the safe hospital environment. From the moment he took his son to Baker Street, still a litte sore and tired, he knew that the child only had him.

Or well, perhaps that wasn't entirely true.

Mrs. Hudson and Sarah were already waiting when he walked into his – _their_ – home, followed closely by Greg. He had the time for a blink and a quick, slightly confused "Uh… Hi?". Then the chaos began.

Mrs. Hudson was right in front of him, gently prying his son from his arms. The baby emitted a sound of confusion but didn't start to cry. "John, why don't you let me hold him for a moment? Don't overstrain yourself." She flashed a bright, clearly motherly smile to the infant. "Hello, there. My gosh, you're certainly going to break a lot of hearts."

John was so focused on watching his son that he didn't notice the other person approaching him. He shivered slightly when Sarah took his hand, a small smile on her face. "He's not going to disappear if you look away for a second, you know?"

John shivered again, this time a lot more violently. The words got stuck into his throat. _How can you know that? Sherlock disappeared although I was right there staring at him._

Clearly sensing his distress Sarah spoke in a gentle tone. "Come on, let's get you some food. I know that the one they serve at the hospital is closer to torture than anything else."

If John hadn't been so throughoutly baffled by everything he might've smiled. It hurt like hell that Sherlock wasn't there to take his family home, that this family wasn't whole. But it was nice to be reminded that at very least he wasn't alone in this.

* * *

It didn't come as a huge surprise. John had been in a high risk group from the beginning. But it still hurt.

John began to lose sleep and not only because of Spencer, although the doctor himself probably didn't realize. Forgot to eat more often not. There was paranoia over the baby's wellbeing and safety. John never showed the hysteria out in the open but it lingered right there under the surface, almost palpable enough to be touched. John refused to leave the flat unless it was to get necessary items for his son. The doctor's whole world revolved around the baby. In a while the anxiety became loud and clear.

Having seen several cases during her career Sarah recognized the signs of postpartum depression although it took her longer than it should've.

Finally, when John had been up for several nights she came in after a phone call that basically consisted of '_Could you come and help me a little bit?_', to meet a heartbreaking sight. John was sitting right outside the room where Spencer was, slumped to the floor and shaking right down to the core of his being. The Omega was dangerously close to hyperventilating. In the room Spencer was crying loudly.

Sarah swallowed. She hesitated before daring to speak, not wanting to make the situation even worse. "John…?"

"I… I've fed him. I swear I have. He's been changed. I… I even tried to hold him, but… It just makes him cry harder. Like… Like he wouldn't want me around." John emitted a ragged breath, rubbing his face fiercely with both hands. "What… What am I supposed to do? He's… He doesn't want me, Sarah, and he's got no one else. What am I going to do?"

Sarah's eyes stung when she slid down to sit beside him, taking a tender hold of one of his unsteady hands. "You need help, for both your sakes. And I'll help you find it. I promise."

It was the first and last time she ever saw John cry.

* * *

Sherlock had been sleeping for almost a full day after staying up four days straight when he woke up to the sound of his cell phone bleeping. Instantly alerted he shivered, all too aware of the fact that this line was reserved only for special occasions. It was the second time Mycroft broke their rule of not making contact.

'_Spencer Andrew Watson-Holmes. I had a feeling that you might want to know your son's name._'

For several moments Sherlock simply stared. Then, without even noticing it, smiled for the first time in a small eternity. He caressed the cell phone's screen, his son's name, fondly and gently with his thumb.

Fueled with brand new fighting spirit Sherlock got up and returned to what he'd been doing before going to bed. Without his shirt on, not ashamed of all the scars, he focused all his frustration and rage on a punching bag that seemed to be mocking him. He punched and punched, even after his knuckles were bleeding. Preparing himself for a full-out war. Determined to make it through alive.

He'd never had more to fight for.

* * *

John had known to expect that being a single parent wouldn't be easy. But never, ever would he have expected just how much strain it was going to put on him. Especially when he never seemed to have the time to grieve properly.

The endless row of sleepless nights brought him to the very edge of his sanity. Of course Spencer inherited Sherlock's sleeping habits. Far more times than he cared to admit they were both crying during the lonely, long hours of the darkest night. In full honesty John couldn't tell which one of them received more comfort from the violin music that most often lulled his son to sleep.

Only a little after they'd finally found a relatively tolerable sleep rhythm Spencer began teething. When the baby kept screaming and howling out of sheer agony John was torn with not being able to do a thing. Absolutely none of the tricks he learned from his friends at the hospital and books worked with his son.

One night John sat on a bathroom floor with Spencer securely in his arms, holding on with absolutely all his love and affection while the tiny one screamed his lungs out. Tears were slipping down John's own cheeks as well. In the end he decided that they couldn't just stay on the floor forever and pushed himself up, holding his whimpering son close.

"Shh…", John soothed in a very unsteady, shuddering tone. "Shh… Please, quiet down. Just calm down."

Spencer didn't.

John lost track of time right there and then. It could've been hours – to him it felt like days. Until all of a sudden Spencer grew completely quiet and still. A jolt of sheer panic shot through the doctor until he realized that the infant was staring at something intently. His eyes tracing the track of his son's John didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at what he discovered. "You've gotta be kidding me…"

It was that damn skull, a memento John just couldn't bring himself to throw away although it gave him chills.

John was so tired that his knees were shaking and desperately out of ideas. At the moment he was willing to try _anything_. So, ignoring the fact that it was probably a horrific idea and at very least far from sanitary, the doctor handed the skull to Spencer. In an instant the little one's eyes – perfect replicas of Sherlock's – lit up, all tears forgotten. John didn't know if the sound that erupted from him was a sob or a chuckle. "Now where am I going to end up with you?"

_Oh, sweetie… Your pa would be so proud of you._

* * *

On the very opposite side of the country a loud, chilling scream ran through a long ago abandoned warehouse, only heard by two people.

There was blood staining Sherlock's face, hands and clothes when he delivered a yet another kick at the man who'd crumbled to the floor. Most of the blood wasn't his own. "Where… is… Charles Moran?" he hissed.

The poor sod below him – Erik Towsend – gasped, then spat out blood, desperately trying to get back on all fours but not getting even close. Blood seeped from the wounds Sherlock had caused, staining the bald head. Brown eyes radiated fear. This man was just a lowly worm but Charles was his brother's right hand. Finding Charles he'd finally get to hit where it'd hurt. Too bad he'd have to do it very subtly.

Erik coughed and sputtered, the man's whole body trembling pitiably. The criminal's eyes were ridiculously wide upon meeting his. "Please…!"  
Oh, Sherlock was _not_ in the mood for listening to that one. One of his feet rose, landing quite sharply to Erik's throat and pinning the man down. "Give me the location… and you won't have to suffer any longer."

Erik stared at him. Right into his fiery, solemn eyes. And told. Then burst into a hysterical laughter. "Do you… Do you honestly think that you'll be able to get away with this? Moriarty's web… It's larger than you could even imagine. Infinite. And they… They're already on to you. Too many have died. They're suspicious. One slip…" The man made a wild gesture with his hand. "… and you can say goodbye to your precious doctor and son."

Panic shot right into Sherlock's heart and he could've sworn that it stopped for a moment. His Alpha side wouldn't let him dwell in the panic for too long, though. The need to protect his family pushed through. So he took a knife and plunged, five times. He wasn't entirely sure why there were tears in his eyes.

* * *

It wasn't easy. It wasn't tearless, for either one of them. John couldn't quite make himself stop grieving what was missing. But eventually Spencer and he fell into a pattern. Grew used to one another. Developed the kind of a bond the doctor had only read about from books. Life… was good, almost. As good as it could be.

Only a week after Spencer turned nine months old rays of sun coaxed John out of the light slumber he'd found from his bedroom's floor, right next to a also sleeping Spencer. His eyes widened and his blood ran cold when he realized that something crucial had changed. His son wasn't beside him anymore.

"Spencer?" It was silly to call out to someone who couldn't speak yet but at the moment no logic existed for him. He got up so fast that he almost fell right back down and looked around frantically. There wasn't a trace left of the baby. "Spencer!"

Sheer terror striking all the way through John dashed out of the room, the most sickening horror images building up inside his buzzing head. Both his Omega and human side fearing the worst. John didn't have to go far. What he ran into made him freeze dead on his tracks.

Spencer – whom he'd never, ever seen even crawling – was up and about, wobbly yet determinedly making his way towards a cardboard box John had never taken the time to pass on. There, sitting on top of the pile, was Sherlock's detective's hat. Excitement shining in his eyes Spencer took the item and, without a hint of hesitation, put it on. Clearly knowing that John was right there the tiny boy turned towards him, the hat almost falling to shield the child's eyes, and gave the most adorable smile the doctor had ever seen.

John really, honestly didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the sight. Good grief, Spencer looked like the spitting image of Sherlock as a child. Dark curly hair, those eyes, the hat and all…

Nor did John need to decide what to do. Because just then Spencer's balance crumbled and the child tumbled to floor. In a flash the boy was crying, without a doubt rather from frustration and irration than from pain or startle.

From that day on Spencer made John run after him just as much as Sherlock did.

* * *

When Spencer was a year and three months old Sarah and John were both staring at the boy while sitting on a couch. "So… Still not a word?" Sarah confirmed.

John nodded, gritting his teeth. "He's developing normally. And I can tell that he understands a lot more words than he should be able to. He just… chooses not to speak." A slight trace of a smile appeared. "If I didn't know better I'd say that he's giving me silent treatment."

Observing Spencer Sarah's eyes widened. Then, slowly, her face set to a bright smile. "That kid sure is something else."

John's eyes softened. All worry he'd had melted away, at least for a moment. "Oh trust me, I'm well aware."

Before them Spencer – who'd only learned to walk a blink ago and hadn't even celebrated his second birthday yet – had discovered legos. Holmes style, John was sure. Because over the past hour and a half the child had built what looked like a massive castle. Something a lot of three year olds wouldn't have been able to produce.

Spencer then demolished the whole creation with a single, determined swat of a hand. The child pouted – good grief, looking just like a mini-Sherlock – and looked at his dad, tears pooling into those more than familiar eyes. And right there, with Sarah as a witness, Spencer Watson-Holmes spoke his first proper word. Practically screamed it to the world.

"Bored!"

* * *

Elsewhere Sherlock picked up his phone and dialed 999. "I'm going to give you an address. In exactly five minutes a murder will take place in this location. Send in the police." True to his word he spoke out the address over the frenzied hassle in the other end, then hung up and waited.

Charles Moran came home exactly at the time he was supposed to, speaking heatedly to a phone and a hand running through slightly overgrown brown hair. Far darker eyes shone with annoyance and something else entirely. (Sherlock felt tempted to wonder if the man was talking to his brother. It would've been a nice touch.) About a minute later the police parked to the street, altogether six of them dashing into the block of flats. (So they'd called in backup already.)

In a long ago abandoned apartment on the other side of the street Sherlock took a deep breath, then prepared his gun and made sure that the silencer was attached properly. Allowed himself a couple of moments with memories of John. Then found everything happening very fast.

The cops came rushing in just as they were supposed to. And, as he'd predicted, Charles dropped the phone and whirled around, gun already ready in his hand. That was Sherlock's cue to make his own move.

At the exact second one of the cops fired so did he. Both shots were lethal. His was faster.

The official story was that Charles Moran was killed by the local police. The real story was that they didn't really care to dig through who executed the criminal. Sherlock was quite happy with just him knowing the truth.

Without a backwards glance Sherlock disappeared, all too aware of the fact that it'd take a very long time before he'd be able to take his next step towards home.

* * *

That night John woke up from a dream where Sherlock's blood had spread on the pavement once more. Where he'd been forced to watch his mate fall endlessly, over and over again. A strangled scream was ripped through his lips and for a moment, just a moment, he lingered in the sweet illusion that it'd all been nothing but a dream. A sick magic trick.

But then he felt that the other side of the bed was cold, empty.

All the things he was unwilling to unleash nearly choked him. Emitting a heartbroken, small whimper he turned, facing the side where Sherlock used to lay, and placed his hand exactly to the spot where Sherlock's heart should've been beating.

(He, of course, couldn't know that far away Sherlock mirrored his gesture.)

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh, those poor things…! (winces) They'd need each other so badly right now. Let's hope that it won't take too long before they'll be together again.

Actually… The next chapter is finally the one we've been waiting for. The reunion is almost at hand, folks. Would you like to follow the story there?

PLEASE, leave a note and let me know your thoughts! Would cyber chocolate chip cookies sound like a fair enough encouragement…?

Until next time, with whichever project that may be, I hope!

Take care!


	5. A Storm After the Calm

A/N: I'm baaaaack! And see, a relatively early update? (grins) Yosh?

First off, thank you so much for those amazing reviews and your support! (HUGS) Those really get me all excited, you know? So thank you!

Awkay… Time's running out so I'll just cut the chase before I'll chicken out. I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

* * *

A Storm After the Calm

* * *

/ _John didn't know exactly when it happened. When his resolve crumbled. When he realized that he was, no matter how subconsciously, forgetting to take several days worth of suppressant pills. When he stopped fighting._

_All he knew was that with Sherlock, in the Alpha's mad world, he felt more alive than he ever had during his life._

_The shadows around them were long and dark but John didn't even notice while he leaned against a wall, right next to a equally winded Sherlock. Adrenaline was streaming in his veins, making his head spin. Without a warning they were both giggling. "That was ridiculous. That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."_

_Sherlock smirked, clearly as high on adrenaline as he was. The Alpha's scent was hard and heavy in the air. "You invaded Afganistan."_

_John stared and stared, first at Sherlock's eyes, then at those slightly parted lips. All of his senses sharpened – he could hear the detective's breath, could've sworn that he even caught the man's heartbeat. And all of a sudden his Omega half refused to be restrained for another second. He couldn't ignore the heat rising deep within any longer._

_When his lips crashed almost violently against Sherlock's John realized vaguely that as from that moment, _this_ was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever done._

_Surprisingly he had no regrets. _/

* * *

Sherlock knew that his son was two years and six months old on the day his cell phone began to ring all of a sudden, in the middle of the night. Instantly alerted he checked the item to discover that the caller was Mycroft. He frowned and hesitated for a second before picking up. "Didn't we make a deal…?"

"_Moran's back in England._"

Sherlock's very bloodstream halted at those words. It took dangerously long before he managed to catch enough breath to speak. "How soon can we strike?" _How soon can I go back home?_

Mycroft groaned. "_Slow down for a goddamn second! We're going to need a plan. You do realize that, don't you?_"

Sherlock's left eyebrow twitched with irritation. "I already have a plan. What I need to know is how long it's going to take before your useless men are ready for this."

Mycroft sighed. The man sounded exhausted. "_Ready for _what_, Sherlock?_"

Sherlock smirked manically. After months and months of laying low the rush of adrenaline was intoxicating. "For the final hat trick, of course."

* * *

Since Sherlock was his son's other parent John had known to expect that Spencer was going to have a temper. Nothing, however, could've prepared him for the terrible twos. Him _or_ the flat. Spencer's boredom and fits were taxing on furniture, walls and basically anything the child could get his hands on. And gosh, how the boy hated all boundaries. Everything had to be explored and experimented on, and Spencer couldn't understand why John wouldn't allow him to touch certain things. The child definitely knew how to sulk and have a temper tantrum.

Today Spencer's curiosity had turned towards his pet goldfish Blob, which had miraculously survived in their household for the total of four months.

"Spencer Andrew Watson-Holmes, NO! Put that coffee away at this instant!"

Spencer looked at him with genuine confusion. "Blob's tired. Coffee helps."

True, Blob had been quite sluggish and John couldn't bring himself to tell his son that it was highly likely that the fish wouldn't live much longer. Instead he sighed, snatching the coffee from his son. "It doesn't work on fishes."

Spencer folded his arms. There was a entirely too familiar look in his son's eyes. "Dull."

Taking a deep breath John allowed his attention to linger. He'd need to find something to occupy the child's mind. His focus nailed on a photo album that lay halfway underneath the boy's bed. A tight, cold fist squeezed around his heart. All of a sudden it was hard to breathe. "What… have you been doing, Spence?" he asked although he already knew.

He didn't like the look of pain on his son's face when he took the album. Spencer shouldn't have had to wear such an expression, not when he wasn't even three yet. "That pa, daddy?"

John blinked furiously and gulped but couldn't quite gret rid of the lump sitting in his throat. It was a struggle but eventually he managed to nod. "Yeah, sweetie. That's pa in those pictures." It took just about all he had to keep the tears that threatened to fall from coming. He didn't want to fall apart in front of his son when the child couldn't possibly understand… "Do you miss him?"

Spencer nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. Then shook his head. "Hate him."

John blinked twice at that. Such a strong word, coming from a two year old. "Why?" was all he managed to squeeze out.

Spencer looked at him very seriously. Ah, that expression certainly came from John's side. That look didn't belong to a child's face, either. "He makes you sad."

John whole body and soul were thrown into a violent turmoil. He didn't even notice that a couple of tears rolled when he eventually pulled his son as close as he could, held on tight. "Oh, Spence…" He had no idea of how to explain all of this to someone so young. "I loved your pa very, very much. I still do. That's why I'm sad that he's not… here, anymore. And a little angry, too. But I don't want you to hate him, alright? Never. Because I don't hate him, either." His voice shook and he had to compose himself for a while. "I'm glad that I knew him. I'm grateful that we had you. You're the best gift that I've ever received. I need you to know that."

Spencer nodded, not looking at him. The child was unnervingly quiet for a long moment before those eyes met his once more. "Ice cream?"

John sighed. The rules said no dessert before the main course, but screw the rules. For just one day. "Yeah, let's have ice cream." They both needed it.

It wasn't until Spencer had bolted out of the room John let the tears come, quiet yet so intense that they left him gasping. Then, always the soldier, he composed him with three deep breaths and wiped his eyes. Five minutes later he was finally able to follow his son.

Blob died two days later. John wasn't entirely sure why he felt the urge to weep with Spencer.

* * *

On the day his son was two years and ten months old Sherlock decided that Sebastian Moran's last day on Earth would start with a text message.

'_They're all dead, now. Including your brother. All there's left is a ghost. Come and meet me where it all began. You know when. __S.H._'

When the clock chimed the time of Moriarty's death Sherlock's steps echoed through a building that'd been closed for renovation. Courtesy to Mycroft, of course. The end of the long, horrific nightmare didn't need an audience. The reflections of two stone faced, scarred men could be seen on a ill famous pool's surface.

"I honestly thought that you'd never want to set a foot here again", Sebastian commented in a treacherously calm voice. Slow, calculating steps were approaching. A fist unclenched, fingers reaching out towards a heavily armed belt.

Only steps away Sherlock's whole body stiffened, preparing itself. His hand didn't remain still, either. "I wanted to see this, one more time. For the sake of memories." The fingers brushed cool steel. "I saved you for the last. I wanted you to get the chance to watch his kingdom fall. To watch it burn."

The cool mask broke. They were dangerously close to one another, now. "I attended your funeral", Sebastian hissed. "I saw your doggamn body. With my own eyes. How can you be alive?"

Sherlock shrugged. His eyes flashed threateningly while he prepared to make his move. "It was a magic trick."

Perfectly simultaneously they drew guns, the steel shining like silver in the room's dim light. They stood less than six steps away from each other, both with a weapon trained at the other's head. Neither willing to back down. It was a standstill.

With a growl of rage and frustration Sebastian threw the gun away. "Fuck this", the man barked. Then moved.

The soldier attacked with more force than Sherlock had anticipated. But the detective hadn't let himself grow soft while playing possum, either. They became a whirlwind of legs and fists, kicks and punches, while they spun around and around, striking with absolutely all their force. Blood stained their skin and clothes, as well as the floor below them. Neither cared.

After a particularly nasty blow blood poured from Sherlock's eyebrow, blinding him momentarily. That's why he failed to realize what was happening before it was too late. Before light already shone on a knife's silver, as well as in Sebastian's eyes. "This time… I'm about to make damn sure that you stay dead. This is for my brother", the former soldier hissed. Then, before he could do more than blink, struck. Four times. It wasn't until with the third impact Sherlock lost control over himself and emitted a groan of agony. Sebastian smirked. "Can you feel it, now? Death's already calling you. And guess what?" The killer leaned closer while lowering them to the floor. "When I'm done with you I'm going to kill your son – with that doctor of yours watching. And then, when he's begged for it long enough, I'll kill Watson, too. I'll make it slow and painful, for both of them. They'll die, knowing that you failed to protect them."

Sherlock was barely conscious. His breath wheezed, because of broken ribs or the stab wounds can only be guessed, and breathing was getting more painful by the second. But Sebastian just threatened his family. The Alpha inside him reacted instantly.

Sebastian was too close to see what he did. A loose brick, handily only millimetres away. With all the strength there still was in him Sherlock grabbed it and struck without a second of hesitation. Aiming directly at the killer's head.

After the first hit Sebastian merely stared at him with slightly glazed over eyes, appearing stunned. Seeing double and dark creeping to the edges of his vision Sherlock struck again. And again. There was blood – he didn't know which one's. A nauseating, gurgling sound that could've come from either one of them. A sickening crack that'd probably haunt him to the end of his days. A moment of _pause_ where nothing else but nausea, pain, adrenaline, relief and terror existed. Then Sebastian slumped down to the floor next to him, like a rag doll that'd had its strings cut. Despite the fact that he could barely see at all anymore Sherlock noticed that the man's head had several bloodied clumps on it, that the soldier's face was barely recognizable. The last of Moriarty's men was  
nothing but a pile of flesh that'd rot soon.

With a satisfied grin on his face Sherlock closed his eyes, no longer feeling any pain. Allowed his body to go completely slack. There, in moments that might very well be his last, his incredible mind carried him to John. As he drifted away with a smile on his face he never heard the sounds of sirens.

* * *

The sky was promising rain but John didn't have an umbrella along when he slumped down to the ground, his eyes locked on the stone that just wouldn't disappear, no matter how much he hoped. He'd expected that over time these visits would become easier somehow. Of course they didn't. How could they have? His mate was still gone.

"I'm not going to say that I'm sorry for failing to visit, you know? You chose to turn your back on us the day you…" He swallowed thickly. This time his eyes didn't sting – maybe he was out of tears. "Life goes on, Sherlock. It shouldn't but it does. Our son is growing up and he… he needs me. _All_ of me, not the shell you left behind. Because of your decision I'm the only parent he has. I have to give him everything that I possibly can. So I… I can't go through my days talking to a ghost or a stone. Not anymore. I… I don't want to, but I have to let you go."

A tiny part of John expected to hear Sherlock's voice, telling him to knock it off. Telling him to just stop, _stop_, and turn around. Turn around and see…

But only a cool breeze of wind answered.

John's throat was scratchy and raw when he finally found his voice again. He'd been wrong earlier, it seemed, because his eyes were moist. "A while ago Spencer said that he hates you. His own pa. He doesn't understand that word the way we do but he… He's hurting, Sherlock. Because you left us. How am I supposed to explain what you did to him when… when even I can't understand it?" He'd heard from Greg that Moriarty's body had been found from the rooftop on that hellish day – he could imagine why Sherlock did what he did. But he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to forgive it.

John wiped his cheek although it felt dry, feeling choked once more. "Just… Damnit, Sherlock, just leave me alone already if you're not coming back." Finally managing to compose himself enough he got up, his legs dangerously weak. "I have to go. There's a three year old's birthday party to plan. Just so you know… Yesterday I bought him a Rubik's cube for you. I had a feeling that it's something you might've given him. It'll be waiting for him on the morning of his birthday. We'll see how long it takes him to solve it." For another five seconds he kept staring at the stone, a part of him still waiting for some sort of a sign, then let his shoulders slump and began to turn away. "Bye, Sherlock. I love you, you git." With those words he walked away, a slight limp in his steps.

It wasn't until he made it to the taxi the rain began to fall.

* * *

Sherlock woke up to a world of pain and confusion. It took ages before he finally managed to regain at least some coherence. Opening his eyes and moving were out of the question, it seemed. But his hearing was coming back, little by little.

Why in the world did the first voice he heard have to be Mycroft's? "… have to calm down. Right now."

"Calm down?" Oh, Greg sounded positively murderous. "Do you not see that Sherlock's right there? Your brother! Your brother we bloody _buried_!" Steps paced around, giving Sherlock a intense headache. (He wished he would've been able to grimace. Or better yet, to snarl at those two to fucking shut up.) "We have to call John. Right now."

John's name most certainly alerted Sherlock. He fought and fought but his damn transport had failed him. Frustration made him want to scream.

"No, we won't call him." Mycroft's voice was stone hard. (Sherlock imagined just good it would've felt to punch the man right at that jaw…) "This is going to be a huge shock for him, do you understand that? And we need to think about Spencer."

"You heard that doctor! Sherlock may die, for real this time. What if…?"

"John already thinks that he's dead. Remember? If…" Someone swallowed loudly. (Was it Sherlock himself?) "If that should happen… Wouldn't we be cruel to put John through that pain all over again? There's no need to force him into saying goodbye twice."

All of a sudden it was very cold, and quiet.

Sherlock's whole head whirred while he fought, with absolutely everything there was in him. But in the end the dark was stronger. Right before he fell he came to a stone hard decision. Saw a clear, solid goal.

He would _not_ die. Because now he finally had the chance to go home to John and Spencer. He _couldn't_ die. Because he had a family to return to.

* * *

Spencer's third birthday party was a noisy, chaotic and fun affair. Everyone enjoyed themselves. The birthday boy obviously basked in the attention. It was eight in the evening – past Spencer's bedtime – when the last visitors had left and John tucked his son in with a soft kiss to the tiny one's cheek.

He was about to leave, thinking that Spencer was asleep, until he heard a whisper. "Daddy?" The boy rubbed his eyes tiredly while looking his way. "Love you."

John couldn't keep himself from smiling. "I love you too, Spence. Goodnight."

Upon leaving the room he noticed that Spencer's new Rubik's cube was placed under the boy's pillow despite being hard and probably painful there. John's heart constricted painfully at the sight. If only Sherlock could've been there…

His thought was interrupted by a quiet, almost hesitant knock. Carefully making sure that Spencer hadn't been disturbed he walked over to open. His eyebrow bounced up when he found Greg. "Hey. I thought that you'd be working. Wasn't that why you couldn't come to the party?" Although lately Greg had been avoiding spending time with him. Whenever they met there was a look of panic, guilt and ache in the man's eyes. Something was off.

And now, apparently, was the time to spill the beans. Greg swallowed loudly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Could you… come with me to St. Bart's? There's… There's something I need you to see."

Cold he couldn't explain settled into John's body while he nodded numbly, his head too worked up to muster any questions. After asking Mrs. Hudson to keep an eye on Spencer for a while he followed Greg out and into a car he knew better than well. Neither spoke on their way to the hospital, too worked up by their own thoughts.

They were in the building, in third floor, when Greg's mouth finally opened. "Room 3812." The DI's eyes were nearly panicked. "Before you go in… Just remember that there's a reason for everything."

John frowned, still unable to quite put into words what was bothering him, then ushered his body into motion. Taking the twenty-eight steps to the correct room was ridiculously hard. Pushing the door open even more so. But facing what, _who_, was waiting inside… Now that was something else entirely.

All too familiar eyes first stared, as though not quite believing. Then widened. "John?"

John's whole world tilted on its axis.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh boy… This is so not going to go smoothly… (winces) We'll see just what kind of a breakdown this causes. Let's hope that John won't hurt Sherlock TOO badly.

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? Lukewarm? Trash material? PLEASE, send a note to let me know! It'd seriously make my day. 'Sides, it's Easter time and all… (gives puppy's eyes)

Until next time! I really hope that I'll see you all then.

Take care!


	6. Injured in Friendly Fire

A/N: Yup, you are most definitely seeing correctly. The new update is already here. (grins) You guys managed to get me so excited that I just couldn't hold myself back. Besides, it's to update now or two to three days later, so I don't have the heart to make you guys wait.

THANK YOU, so very much, for all that love you've given this story! I'm sailing foreign waters with this story so it means the world to me that you're there to support this one. (BEAMS) You seriously rock!

Awkay, before I go all mushy and gushy, let's go. I truly hope that you'll have a good ride with this one.

* * *

Injured in Friendly Fire

* * *

/ _The very first intimate encounter is perfect for only few, lucky individuals. John had never been accused of being lucky. Not only did he hit his first heat since his tedious, awkward and borderline torturous teenage years quickly and hard. But it also seemed that Sherlock was unused to handling a Omega in heat, physically and emotionally. It's never a good thing when two beings lose control so troughoutly around each other._

_For John it was lava surging through his veins. Not the pleasant kind of heat but such that made him feel like he'd been burned up alive. It was such throbbing in his groin area that convinced him he was being skinned alive, forced him to emit a wounded yelp. It was his yelp that alerted his mate, actually. Or perhaps his scent. Sherlock found him from the bathroom, where he was stark naked taking such a cold shower that his skin was turning blue, his _need_ showing so loudly that it was humiliating. The icy water didn't help at all. And his Alpha's untimely appearance didn't make matters any easier. Seeing the detective John whimpered, clawing himself so hard that blood was drawn to get rid of the hellish burning. "Please…!" Oh, for crying out loud, he was already pleading…!_

_Sherlock's eyes changed to such that would've scared him in any other state of mind. As it was all he could feel was such desire he'd never experienced before. The Alpha's scent seeped right into his head, taking over completely. He emitted a bizarre sound that couldn't possibly come out of a human being. All hope of regaining control was lost._

_It wasn't exactly intimate. It sure as hell wasn't romantic. It was pure lust, animalistic need. Growls, hisses and moans. Limbs, teeth and nails everywhere, leaving marks some of which might last forever. In the end Sherlock reached the very peak hard, the nails in the Alpha's right hand drawing long, deep marks to the skin of John's back. John's scream probably ran through the whole building and far outside when he followed, tearing the bedsheet he'd been gripping with the sheer power of despair._

_It took eight hours and three separate sessions before the fire under John's skin finally began to die out. After three hours of laying perfectly still Johh felt pain set in. He winced, biting his lower lip to keep himself from making noise, and shifted carefully so that his back was turned towards Sherlock. The movement certainly didn't help, for he was sure that a great deal of his skin was getting peeled off. He gritted his teeth, gripping the torn sheet._

_Was this… how it was going to be, every single time – was he always going to lose control over his body and mind like this?_

_"John?" He shivered when Sherlock touched his shoulder, slowly beginning to overcome the post heat stupor. He didn't want to hurt his Alpha's feelings – it wasn't the detective he was upset with. The taller male swallowed. "Do you… wish me to sleep on a couch? Some Omegas…"_

_All of a sudden John had turned, wrapped both of his arms around the Alpha. They lay so close to one another that he could hear Sherlock's heartbeat where his ear was pressed against the well built chest. It was soothing. "Don't you dare leave." What a time he chose to use his military voice…_

_It seemed to excite Sherlock. For a moment the heartbeat quickened. In the end the detective sighed. A uncharacteristically gentle, uncertain hand patted his hair clumsily. "We'll get a hang of this. I'm sure."_

_"What if this won't change?" Suddenly John felt a great deal calmer than before. Lucid, almost. He didn't quite smile but his eyes softened. "This is what we are. You and I. And… I'm probably crazy, but it's okay." He squeezed Sherlock's arm, mindful of the spot where he'd left marks of his own. "Now that I've felt this life I wouldn't be able to do without."_

_Sherlock was still far too serious. The detective's jawline tightened. "I'll keep hurting you. Scarring you. You'll hate me."_

_John laughed at the idea, back then. "Nonsense, you git. I could never hate you."_ /

* * *

John felt absolutely everything around him sway. Color drained from his face while blood froze into his veins. His eyes widened, barely able to take in the sight right in front of them.

Sherlock had dyed his now overgrown hair. The color was much closer to chocolate brown, now, perhaps even reddish. Despite the hospital gown it also looked like the detective had lost some weight. That, and gained a great deal of muscle. There was a number of scars covering the pale arms and one tainting the perfect face – tracing the right side of Sherlock's jawline. The bags underneath the stunned eyes revealed that the other man hadn't been sleeping properly in ages. But Sherlock was alive. Very, very much alive and breathing, there before him.

Slowly but not awkwardly – never awkwardly with the detective – Sherlock got up. Didn't quite dare to approach although the desire was obviously there. "John… I…"

John couldn't hear the rest from the rush of blood and the pounding of his heart. He backed away, until his back met a wall. His breathing pattern quickened, became such that he couldn't really catch air properly, but he didn't even notice. Nor did he realize that his whole body was shaking uncontrollably. All that registered was that his heart was swelling, so abruptly that he feared it might actually burst. Swelling, tearing apart, cracking.

"I… buried you." Like that would've been the most important thing. But the damn that'd kept him going and at least remotely sane since Sherlock's fall wasn't quite down yet. Only just shuddering dangerously.

Sherlock seemed confused. Under different circumstances it might've been amusing. The Alpha wasn't moving at all anymore. "Well, you didn't."

The pain – sheer agony – had been growing inside of John for such a long time, for over three long years. Now the inflamed wound was torn wide open. The doctor gasped desperately once, twice, trying to remember when was the last time he inhaled a decent breath. His line of vision was narrowing alarmingly, so that he couldn't really see anything but Sherlock. God, his whole chest hurt so much…!

The damn came crashing down, sweeping John off his feet. He crashed unceremoniously to the floor, quickly bringing his knees to his chest and leaning his head against them. Still gasping, still suffocating under the weight that'd just been dropped on his whole being. His breathing was already wheezing.

His Alpha's scent wrapped around him like a blanket, for a moment numbing his mind. Only vaguely he realized that Sherlock had moved closer, kneeled before him. "John, just breathe. Alright? Just…"

A hand was laid to his shoulder. His wounded human side reacted in an instant. A fist swung, finding Sherlock's cheek. "Don't touch me! _Don't you dare_ touch me!"

He was going into a state of shock. The doctor in him recognized that although his head was shutting down rapidly. This was too much. Too much. _Too much_.

His self protective instincts were up high. When Sherlock refused to retreat his body reacted in the only way it could find. His fists kept swinging, mostly without a clue of aim, and when he met something solid he clawed, desperate to get rid of the source of all this _ache_. To shake the burden from his shoulders.

Arms wrapped around him, held on so tightly that it hurt. For a little while longer John kept fighting and squirming, his soldier part telling him to rid the threat. But he was too taxed, physically and emotionally. Darkness swept him under, mercifully blowing _everything _away for a while.

* * *

Greg and Mycroft, who'd mysteriously returned from his trip to a loo as soon as John had entered the room, waited silently in the hallway. Both fighting the urge to wince when John's snarls seeped into their ears. Unable to even imagine what kind of a emotional turmoil must've been blowing on the other side of the closed door. But, unexpectedly, it became completely quiet. _Too _quiet. They shared a look before barging in. Both froze for a moment at the sight greeting them.

The first thing they saw was Sherlock who – despite all the injuries, paleness and lost weight – seemed to be towering above the Omega. A small stain of blood was visible on the man's hospital gown, most likely from were stitches had been pulled. The detective's usually cold eyes were filled with unmasked pain and terror while the Alpha kept holding on with scratch mark littered arms, so very tightly that it was a miracle the hold wasn't crushing the smaller man.

John was unnervingly still and silent in Sherlock's arms. It took the two arrivals a second to realize why. The doctor wasn't conscious.

Deciding that he was far less likely to receive a violent reaction than Mycroft – who was a fellow Alpha, along with all else – Greg took a brave step forward. "Sherlock… I need you to let go of John, alright? He needs to be looked at. So do you. Do you understand?"

Sherlock emitted an actual growl before glaring daggers at him. The hold most certainly didn't loosen. "I'm not letting you take him away from me!"

Greg gritted his teeth. This was going to be difficult. "You're hurting him." His words made some of the animalistic gleam in those eyes disappear. "I'll look after him. I promise. Let me make sure that he's alright."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously. "It's my job to protect him, Lestrade. Both of them."

A jolt of ache for his friend crossed Greg. "I know that. I understand. And one day you will. Just not yet. Not in that condition. So trust me."

It was obviously the very last thing Sherlock wanted to do but eventually those arms loosened, just enough to give Greg the chance to pry John from the detective's hold. And not a second too soon. Mycroft must've pressed the 'call' button because all of a sudden a very young, somewhat timid looking nurse with shortcut brown hair and grey eyes walked in. Sherlock tensed up, revealing a row of threatening teeth and visibly preparing himself for a combat. A loud and low, chilling growl echoed in the room.

Obviously unused to outraged, protective Alphas the nurse – 'Natalia', according to her nametag – swallowed loudly, beginning to retreat. "I… I'll just get a wheelchair…"

Greg shook his head, subtly prying John just a little bit further from Sherlock while he still could. '_No time_', he mouthed. Natalia seemed to understand.

Mycroft moved impressively quickly, taking a firm hold of Sherlock just as Greg and Natalia began to carry John away. The detective struggled furiously against his brother's hold but didn't have the strength to really fight back just yet. Greg couldn't bear to listen to those outraged, wild and broken screams. If he had he would've surely broken down to tears. Instead he made a mental note that John was far too light, even when he was supporting most of the doctor's weight.

Five minutes later John had been settled to a bed in a room right next to Sherlock's. Greg leaned heavily against the wall while the nurse inspected the doctor quickly, unable to block his ears from Sherlock's screams that carried easily through the wall. He sighed, focusing his eyes on John's unhealthily pale face. He felt a intense stab of guilt, wondering if telling John right after he found out would've made any difference. If seeing Sherlock so very close to death would've changed anything. Made it easier to understand.

Unable to do anything else Greg stood still as a statue, keeping watch, waiting, and wondering just how bad this mess would get.

* * *

A doctor whose name Mycroft didn't bother to ask pumped so much drugs into Sherlock's system that it should've taken down a horse. Clearly the man underestimated the detective. A single hour later Sherlock was not only standing but pacing around the room like a caged tiger. There was a wild, pained look in the younger Alpha's eyes. Sherlock's whole body was trembling under a storm of emotions the older Holmes could only guess. Since he was the only being present it was logical that the detective's fury was quickly directed at him.

"He's right there, Mycroft! On the other side of that wall! _Why the hell_ aren't you letting me go there to make sure that he's alright? To talk to him?"

Mycroft gritted his teeth. "Because you just caused him a panic attack and rendered him into a state of shock. Besides I'm worried that if you'd be allowed in there he might not settle for just a punch and scratches."

Sherlock kicked a trashcan so hard that it flew to the opposite side of the room. The act of violence didn't seem to help a bit. "I did it all for him! It was all for him, damnit!"

Mycroft chest clenched and if he hadn't known better he would've wondered if it was sentimentality. He sighed, pocketing his hands. "I know that. And so does John. He's far more clever than you give him credit for, you know. When Moriarty's body was found he figured out why you had to…" He couldn't quite bring himself to voice the rest. "He's just… hurting, right now." _You both are._

Mycroft felt tempted to wonder if the drugs were actually kicking in, after all, when Sherlock slumped to his bed. The anguish was almost palpable. "He's… He's my _mate_! I can't just…!" His brother's lips opened thrice without any sound before a wheeze finally came out. "And my son… He's three and I don't even know what he looks like. I need to see my son!"

"Then you'll have to advance on John's terms." Mycroft rubbed his face with one hand. _I'm too damn old for this…_ "Look… If you want to have any part in your son's life at all – or in John's, for the matter – you're going to have to earn their trust. And I won't lie to you. It's going to be very, very hard. Are you sure that you're up to it?"

Sherlock gawked at him with incredulous eyes, for a while appearing just about ready to plunge forward and beat him to a pulp. "For God's sakes, Mycroft, they're my family!"

Mycroft couldn't resist a tiny smile at that. Now that was the brother he remembered. "I take that as a 'yes', then."

Sherlock didn't dignify him with an answer. Instead the detective emitted a incomprehensible sound and lay down, turning sharply so that the younger man's back was towards him. Heavy, loaded silence filled the room.

Mycroft took a deep breath, feeling a headache creeping in. They were in for a tough ride, these two. "I'll go and get us some coffee."

There was no response, not that he would've been expecting one.

* * *

When John woke up, with a crushing headache and a ton's weight sitting on his chest, he spent the first five minutes staring at the ceiling. Wondering if he'd been dreaming just now. He hadn't. His mate's scent was still thick in the air. He still _felt_ Sherlock.

"I'm sorry." Those words weren't coming from the one who should've spoken them. Greg's voice was quiet. "I'm sorry that the truth was kept from you for so long. But… We had to be sure that he'd make it, first. And he needed to be well enough."

John swallowed, the hurricane of emotions making him feel dangerously lightheaded. "How long have you known?" His voice shook. He didn't give a damn.

There was a long pause. "For a few months."

John squeezed his eyes tightly shut and gritted his teeth. It didn't help. Didn't make the ache any easier to stand.

"John, I'm…"

"Don't. Just… Don't. Not now." His head whirred a million miles per hour. Still his mouth was faster. "Who else knows?"

Greg hesitated. "Mycroft. He helped Sherlock make all of this possible. And Molly, too, apparently."

John felt like someone had just punched him. The dawning realization sucked all breath from his lungs. _So half of the world knew before me? So he chose not to trust me enough to…?_

"Just so you know… He did it for you. I did, too."

"Stop it!" John's voice was a lot more harsh than he'd intended and he had a feeling that he'd regret it later. But not at the moment. His eyes were lava and venom when they collided with Greg's. "Just… stop. Don't make up excuses for him. Or for yourself, for the matter. I don't want to hear them." There was a sick feeling inside him and he couldn't be sure if it'd ever go away. He couldn't look at his friend anymore. "Right now… Right now I'll have to try and get into my head that my mate is still alive, after all. In this very building. That he didn't trust me enough to give even a bloody hint of what he was planning on doing. That he let me suffer for years." Goddamnit, he was beginning to hyperventilate again. "And when I've done that… Then I'll have to figure out how to tell my three year old son that his pa isn't dead. Just when he's beginning to understand the concept of death. I'll have to confuse him with telling that apparently people do come back from the dead sometimes." He buried his face into his hands and just breathed for the longest time before finally managing to go on. "So… I don't want to hear your excuses. Alright? Or Sherlock's. Just… Just give me some space. Please. Just let me breathe."

At very least Greg seemed to understand that there was no arguing with him at the moment. The man swallowed loudly, getting up with apparent reluctance. "You do know that I'm only a phone call away, don't you?"

All John could do was nod. A few moments later he was alone. Alone, again, despite the fact that his mate was only a wall away.

He managed to keep himself together for the total of one hour, eighteen minutes and fifty-two seconds before the first tears leaked.

* * *

Night was fast on its way towards a morning when John took a deep breath, running a unnervingly steady hand through his hair. He stood there, in the middle of a hospital room, and didn't have the slightest clue of what he was supposed to do. What to feel.

In the room right next to his Sherlock's eyes opened and the detective unleashed a ragged, pained gasp, his gaze scanning wildly through the room. It took a long moment before he remembered that it was all just a dream. This his mate and child were safe. That John was only a wall away from him, alive and breathing.

Almost simultaneously their eyes strayed towards the wall separating them. Longing. Wondering. Full of terror and hurt. Sherlock's hand twitched, about to reach out, while John's fists balled. The desire was almost overwhelming. Neither moved.

John shivered, as though he'd been caught doing something forbidden, when there was a hesitant knock on the room's door. After a second Greg peered in, remorse loud and clear on his face. "I know that you probably don't consider me much of a friend right now but I've understood that you need a ride home. I still top a taxi, don't I?"

John didn't quite smile but some of the tension drained from his aching, stiff muscles. He was so tired of feeling angry… "Yes. Alright, then. Let's go. Thank you."

As they headed out a couple of minutes later, quiet and deep in thought, it took all John had not to peer towards the door behind which Sherlock was. To walk away when absolutely everything inside of him screamed against it. To let go of something he'd only just gotten back, by sheer miracle. By the time he made it to Greg's car his legs were so weak that he feared he might never walk again.

Inside Sherlock sat on his bed with legs brought tightly to his chest, tensed up and a bizarre, unreadable eyes. His whole body was frigid under the pain that seemed to be swallowing him up completely. It took all he had to let his mate walk away, to give John the space the doctor so desperately needed. To give up, even though it was only for a little while. It wasn't until two hours later he finally wiped his eyes.

Neither man slept that night.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh boy… Those two are definitely in for a tough one. (winces) Let's hope that Sherlock's patience or John's understanding won't run out. They've already waited for each other for too long. (sighs)

Sooooooo… What's the verdict, my friends? A hit or a miserable miss? PLEASE, leave a tiny note to that adorable box below to let me know. I've got quite a turmoil ahead of me so hearing from you would totally make my day. (shows pribe chocolate chip cookies and winks)

Until next time! I really hope that you'll all show up for that one.

Take care!

* * *

**Slothsandwhatnot**: These cliffies are absolutely infuriating, aren't they? (groans at oneself) I'm ecstatic to hear that you've enjoyed the ride thus far, anyway. (beams) 'Hope the next one turns out worth the wait.

See? I didn't have the heart to make the wait longer than this. (grins) 'Hope you had a good Easter! I sure did.

Colossal thank yous for the review!

* * *

**HugAZombie**: Oh, it's been a long time, hasn't it? (beams and hugs)

Awww, luv you too. I'm thrilled to hear that you're enjoying the ride so. Perhaps I'll see you again someday soon…?

Gigantic thank yous for the review!


	7. Standstill

A/N: SURPRISE! I'm back already. (grins) Hooray?

But, first things first of course. Gosh, thank you so much for all those reviews and all that love you've provided this ficcy with! This is my first experiment in the field of Alpha/Omega verse so your support feels really good. (beams, and hugs)

Awkay… Because I doubt that you would've come here for my babbling let's jump on with the story. I really hope that you'll have a good time with this one.

* * *

Standstill

* * *

/ _The chaos began from a dumb cop's comment at a crime scene, about three weeks after Sherlock and John's first intimate encounter during a heat. The young man, who probably suffered from severe oxygen deprivation during birth, stared when John excused himself all of a sudden and stumbled behind the first corner, then threw up with about as much grace as anyone possibly could. The cop even had the nerve to grin while shaking his head. "Bloody hell, Watson! Morning sickness, much? It's like you're pregnant or something."_

_John slipped away from the scene with the first possible excuse he could find. Sherlock, of course, was too worked up by the case to even notice. The Alpha sure as hell noticed when he finally got home quite late that night. John, who usually took every opportunity he got to rest during his mate's absence, was still wide awake, pacing around._

_Sherlock caught on instantly. "If you're upset about that imbecile's pregnancy comment…"_

_John's eyes were full of something Sherlock couldn't decipher when they met his. "If you've succeeded in knocking me up I swear that I'll punch you! And I won't spare your nose or teeth!"_

_Sherlock frowned. Couldn't quite suppress the bang of hurt that was rising deep within. "Would it really be that terrible to have a child with me?"_

_John's lips opened while the doctor's eyes welled up. And for a moment, just a moment, it looked like a flood was about to come out. But then, with the self control of a military man, the doctor composed himself. Pulled on an armor even the genius detective couldn't see through. "Goodnight, Sherlock." There was a slight trace of limping on John's steps as the man went, leaving Sherlock wondering what the hell just happened._

_How in the world was he supposed to know that this time he _didn't_ do or say anything wrong?_ /

* * *

After his encounter with John it took Sherlock only days to irritate the hospital's staff enough to have him discharged. During that time the Omega didn't visit him but through the pretty much only nurse who tolerated him the detective found out that John visited the ward every day, asking how the patient was doing before heading right out. No matter how much Sherlock would've wanted to see his partner the nurse's words offered him a hint of comfort.

/ _"Trust me, he'll come around. I've never seen anyone as in love as the two of you."_ /

This time Sherlock was the one following John. A small part of him was relieved when he discovered that John had changed locks after Moriarty's death. He tried to soothe the stab of hurt with convincing himself that the action wasn't in any way an attempt to shield him out. Deciding that desperate times required desperate measures he allowed his eyes to wander, eventually spotting ladders. And so, blatantly ignoring the fact that he was by no means in a condition for something so challenging, Sherlock began to climb. (Like some kind of a damn Romeo reaching out towards Juliet's balcony…)

The flat was exactly the way he remembered it, the way he'd always seen it in the sweetest of his dreams. Well, almost. There was what looked like a million toys that should've been too complicated for a three year old, all sorts of equipment a child of Spencer's age needed and his son's scent was thick in the air. Unable to hold himself back for another second Sherlock began to follow the scent, desperate to finally see his child. To see if Spencer was anything like he'd dreamt.

The room's door was slightly ajar, most likely to ensure that John would hear easily if something was wrong with the boy. Sherlock found himself hesitating for a mighty moment before he finally pushed the door fully open and entered, his steps slow and soundless.

Sherlock wasn't sure if crushing disappointment or relief was stronger when he discovered that Spencer was fast asleep. With the aid of a nightlamp's light the detective looked at the child, his eyes drinking in the view he'd longed so much that it _hurt_. His heart shuddered slightly when he registered just how much like him Spencer looked. Those dark curls, those cheeks, that expression…

Yes, this was most definitely his child. His child, of whose life he'd already missed three years. His child, his son. The thought overwhelmed him and before could stop himself something that sounded suspiciously lot like a sob slipped out. He clasped a hand to his mouth, worried that Spencer might wake up. The boy didn't, only frowned slightly and sighed. And there, just visible from underneath the blanket, a chubby, tiny hand reached out towards Sherlock.

Sherlock's fingers twitched, the desire driving him towards the edge of insanity. His eyes stinging hellishly he placed his hand carefully onto the bed, allowed it to creep closer. Until all of a sudden he sensed that he was no longer alone.

Startled, he looked towards the room's doorway and shivered upon seeing John there. There was a torn look on the visibly tense doctor's face. Fear, hesitation, joy and rage all at once. Sherlock's lips parted but John silenced him quickly with a firm shake of a head, instead motioned for him to follow. Sherlock obeyed without the slightest bit of hesitation, his heart beating so fast that it actually hurt. As soon as the door of Spencer's room had been closed they made their way into the living room.

In an instant John whirled towards him, those eyes blazing with such anger that brought chills through the detective. "What the hell were you thinking? What were you planning on doing if Spencer would've woken up?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "He's my son, too! I have every right to…"

"NO!" John snarled, taking a protective step closer. Definitely a Omega protecting their young. "No. No! You can abandon me and smash me to pieces all you like – you can send me straight to hell over and over again. I can take it. But I'm _not_ letting you do so to our son, do you understand? He's not one of your experiments! He's a little boy with a huge heart and I'm not going to let you break it all over again!"

Sherlock shook his head. It was the easiest pledge he'd ever made, especially when his damn heart was twisting and turning in his chest. It took absolutely all he had to keep the storm of emotions he wasn't comfortable with from becoming unleashed. "Never, John. I swear. Never again."

John sighed, appearing very tired. Years older than he should've been. "How am I supposed to be able to trust you?"

"Let me show you." It was as close to begging as Sherlock could ever bring himself. His voice was low, uncharacteristically submissive. "Both of you. I can be the Alpha you need again. Just let me prove it to you."

John's eyes flashed hazardously. "If you ever hurt our son again I won't be responsible over my actions. Is that understood?" The doctor went on after a nod. "The choice isn't mine to make, though. I've kept Spencer away from the TV and my phone for the past few days. The last thing I want is him finding out that his pa is alive that way. It's bad enough that the reporters bombard me with questions." The Omega gritted his teeth. "I'll need to figure out how to tell Spencer that you're back from the dead. After that I'll ask him if he wants to spend time with you. If he wants to get to know you. It's his decision, and his decision alone."

"What about you?" Sherlock sounded and felt miserable, which was highly uncomfortable for him. The Alpha inside was ready to explode. It took just about all he had not to just pounce on his Omega, not to mark and claim his mate… "How long is it going to take before you stop punishing me for protecting my family?" He didn't mean to growl, didn't mean the harsh look that appeared to his face.

John's teeth showed and for a moment he was sure that the man would punch him. "I'm protecting him, too. If you want me to believe that you can be trusted around either one of us you're going to have to leave your ego into a corner." The Omega unleashed a hiss, lips parting for something more, but all else faded away for both of them when soft whimpers carried to their ears.

Spencer was crying.

Out of instinct Sherlock moved but John's firm hand blocked his path. Hard as he tried he couldn't read the look in the doctor's eyes. "I understand. Trust me, I do. But right now…" The Omega breathed sharply and looked away, obviously fighting with himself. "Right now you'll need to give us some space. I mean all three of us."

Sherlock lifted his chin. He'd been fighting for so long that it was hard to give up even when he should've. "I'll come back."

John nodded slowly, still not looking at him. He wasn't sure which one of them shivered more when Spencer's cries continued. "_Daddy!_"

Sherlock didn't stop John from walking away. After everything he'd put the doctor through he owed that much, at least. He couldn't just watch his mate walk away, though. Gritting his teeth so hard that it hurt he turned slowly, as though expecting the doctor to change his mind. John didn't. Sherlock was, though, almost sure that he heard a whisper.

"Just so you know… No matter how much I'm hurting right now I thank God that you're still alive."

Eyes widening a tiny fraction Sherlock spun around, only to notice that John was already gone.

It was wrong, all of it. His son was scared and having a bad dream. His mate was upset and in a great deal of pain. Sherlock himself was perfectly ready to detonate. But this, leaving… It was the only thing he could do at the moment. For all three of them.

So he left, carefully and soundlessly as a thief. Disappeared into the night. His only comfort was the frail, nagging thought that John never told him not to come back.

* * *

That night was long and sleepless for both of them.

As sometimes happened when Spencer had nightmares the child ended up wetting his bed. It took John over an hour to get his son to sleep again. After succeeding in cleaning up the mess and calming down the borderline hysterical boy John lay down in his bed – Spencer snuggled right by his side, holding on to him as though for dear life – and attempted to find some rest of his own. No luck there. Sherlock had invaded his head.

In the end morning came. John's eyes drooped with exhaustion while he sighed, rubbing his face with the hand that wasn't holding his son. Fantastic, it appeared that he was about to have a massive headache.

"Daddy?" Spencer's voice was barely comprehensible. Only understandably, since the child had woken up only seconds earlier. Bleary, painfully familiar eyes blinked sluggishly at him. "I… had another dream. Pa was here."

That was the sign. The perfect opening. The best chance.

John swallowed thickly, wondering how in the world he was supposed to start. "It wasn't a dream." Gosh, he could still practically smell Sherlock in the air… His pause stretched, became heavy. "Pa… He really was here, just last night. He… Spence, he didn't die."

At first Spencer frowned, obviously not understanding. Then, very slowly, those eyes widened. "He… came back?"

John nodded. All of a sudden a searing sensation took over his eyes. "He did. For us."

Spencer seemed to sink deep into thoughts. The words that eventually came weren't exactly the ones John had been expecting. "Is Blob coming back, too?"

John didn't know whether he wanted to cry or laugh at that. It took what felt like ages before he managed to shake his head, let alone speak. _That sodded fish…!_ "No, it isn't."

Spencer frowned, obviously disappointed and unable to understand. "Are you sure?"

Honestly, John couldn't be sure about anything anymore. But still he nodded. They both needed a long moment before he found it safe to go on. "Look, Spence… Pa had to go away for a while because bad men threatened us all. He was never gone, not really. But Blob died for real. Do you understand that difference?" Did even _John _fully understand yet?

There was still a look of confusion on Spencer's face but the child nodded slowly, as though testing the idea. "I guess." It took the longest time before the boy finally voiced what was going on inside that amazing head. "Daddy… Is pa… gonna live with us, now?"

John shivered at the thought. For a few moments he didn't have the slightest clue of what to say. Live with them? Absolutely not. Not when the wounds were still so raw and tender. Not when John couldn't even blink around Sherlock without fearing that the man would be gone when his eyes were open again. But as hurt and furious as John was, as badly as he'd been wounded, he still loved his Alpha enough not to steal away his child. And if Spencer wanted another parent into his life he wasn't going to stand in the way. He refused to turn his son into a pawn. "How would you feel if he… would be around?"

He wasn't about to push Spencer, either. And as soon as he saw the way his son stiffened while snuggling closer still he knew that the boy's limit had been met. Spencer buried his face to his side, so that he couldn't see those eyes. "I'm still sleepy, daddy."

John gave something that could've been a sigh or a yawn, one hand stroking his son's hair gently. "So am I", he murmured. "Let's go back to sleep."

Spencer nodded but the boy was still tense, far too much so to be able to find any actual rest. John couldn't rest, either. His Omega side was missing his Alpha terribly, especially when he was finally beginning to realize that Sherlock was truly back. While Spencer eventually dozed off John remained perfectly still and tense, his mind and heart spinning a million miles per hour. Desperately trying to reach a conclusion that just wasn't there.

In the end he gave in. With a deep breath he took his cell phone and sent a text message.

* * *

John wasn't ready to start the process of sorting things out with Sherlock yet. Greg, however, was a different story. After a throughout explanation and a very, very earnest apology the DI was lucky enough to face him without being punched. And if John was honest with himself a friend was exactly what he needed with the reporters having gone crazy over Sherlock's return. Shielding his son from the unwanted attention and turning down their intrusive requests for a interview without beating them up was a second job for him.

And then, of course, there was Sherlock.

Coming back home from a walk that'd been supposed to calm his nerves with Greg John growled upon discovering a hammer from behind his door. Greg blinked twice, staring at the item. "Sherlock again?"

Over the past couple of weeks these small gifts had been a common occurrence. Cartons of milk, boxes of tea, toys for Spencer… And then, of course, there was a stream of text messages. If John hadn't known better he would've imagined that Sherlock was trying to woo him in his own, somewhat clumsy way. The doctor didn't know what to feel while he took the hammer slowly, holding it for a couple of seconds before making the decision of accepting it. "One of the kitchen cabinets broke down a day before he…" He swallowed down the last word, winced at the bitter taste. "I've been unable to fix it because I lost my hammer and never took the time to get a new one."

There was a long moment of silence. Greg broke it quietly. "He's trying, John."

John sighed. He had to grit his teeth not to snap at his friend. _Do you really think that I can't see that?_ _That I wouldn't forgive him and take him back with open arms if I could?_ "I know", he murmured instead. He took a deep breath, trying to steel himself. He remained strong for such a long time to keep his son safe. He couldn't just give in now. "So am I."

Greg's lips parted but whatever the DI was supposed to say became cut off by a crash that came from the apartment, followed by Spencer's giggling and a somewhat shrill snarl from Harry Watson.

The men exchanged knowing, mildly alarmed looks. "My back still feels a bit stiff", Greg offered. "Would you mind another half an hour of walking?"

John couldn't resist a small chuckle at that. "I think it might be just what the doctor ordered."

* * *

Out of all the places in the world Sherlock never, ever expected to find himself from his brother's flat. Yet there he was, much too aware of the fact that he wasn't welcomed in his real home. The Alpha inside him was seething and raging.

His place was with his Omega and child, for crying out loud! He needed to be with them now that it was finally possible but so far his attempts of reaching out for John had echoed on deaf ears. He wanted to show them that he was able and willing to look after them. That he was a part of the family. That he'd never hurt them in such a way again. The reporters that were constantly on his tails, asking the same questions over and over again, didn't make it any easier. Nor did the fact that he couldn't help with cases until his reputation was properly cleared. Sherlock was stuck in his brother's flat with absolutely nothing to do, most of the time unsupervised while Mycroft was at work. Which was the perfect recipe for a disaster. (It took him only a day to track down and demolish the six security cameras Mycroft had installed. His brother hadn't bothered to try with new ones since.)

Sherlock was currently rummaging through the bathroom in search for something to experiment on when his cell phone bleeped. He blinked several times, barely daring to hope that it wouldn't be his miffed brother this time. The message was from John. It took the total of twenty seconds before he managed to find the courage to open it.

'_It's exhausting to be mad at you. J.W._'

Sherlock swallowed, something stirring inside of him. He didn't quite dare to smile although the corners of his mouth twitched. His response was sent before he managed to process it properly.

'_Let me come back home, then. S.H._'

John's message came in an instant, like it'd been written in beforehand.

'_We both know that it's not that simple, Sherlock. J.W._'

Just when Sherlock's stomach was about to plummet another text came.

'_Spencer finally made his decision. He wants to meet you. But before I let the two of you see each other we'll have to talk. J.W._'

Sherlock shivered. True, he was miserably limited in his knowledge of these things. But somehow he had a feeling that 'we need to talk' was rarely anything promising. There was, however, nothing he wouldn't have been ready to do to get his family back.

'_When and where? S.H_'

'_Angelo's. Tomorrow at two. Come sober or I won't miss your nose and teeth this time. J.W._'

Sherlock just had to smile at that. He was either brave or stupid enough to push his luck. His finger shook slightly as he wrote.

'_You did at the hospital, though. S.H._'

'_Now have some tea and lie down. I'm all too aware of how little you rest when you get that worked up and you're still recovering. Goodnight, Sherlock. J.W._'

Now the smile finally broke out. True, they had miles and miles to cover. But at least now Sherlock knew that John still cared about him. That their bond wasn't completely shattered. His finger twitched, about to type something hasty, but he changed his mind. Instead he sent something far more simple.

'_Goodnight, John. S.H._'

_I miss you._

Two hours later Sherlock was finally sleeping properly for the first time since his return from the dead. His dreams were of home and future he barely dared to fantasize of.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: So… At least our boys are trying. We'll see just what happens next. Because it's highly unlikely that the storm would be quite over just yet…

I have a suggestion for you guys. This story is marching on pretty solidly right now. I might be able to provide an update every four days. Would you feel up to that? That way the next chapter would be out next Tuesday. Does that sound acceptable?

PLEASE, let me hear your thoughts and comments! They always make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I might still have some cyber Easter chocolate to pribe you with… (winks)

Until next time! I really hope that you'll all be tuned in then.

Take care!


	8. Baby Steps

A/N: See, see? Just as I promised, I'm back! (grins) And it's only just Tuesday morning here, too. Yosh?

Once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love that you've given this story! I've been typing like a silly person lately and you guys are to blame. (smirks) So thank you! You're simply amazing.

Awkay… Because I just may chicken out if I don't cut the chase now, let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy this.

* * *

Baby Steps

* * *

/ _Despite being a Omega John didn't know if it would actually be possible for him to become pregnant. For most of his life he didn't even care – he was never supposed to start a family, anyway, especially with an Alpha. And he sure as hell never expected to become pregnant from his first mating during a heat. Yet that's exactly what happened. And he didn't find out until the frail beginning of a life was already dying inside of him, exactly three weeks after his heated encounter with Sherlock._

_John started spotting halfway through his shift at the hospital, in the middle of a particularly tricky surgery. It took him fifteen minutes to understand what was happening. In some miraculous way he managed to navigate his way through the operation although later he remembered absolutely nothing of it. He even made his way through the remaining half an hour of the shift, a blockage building up in his throat and feeling fully ready to burst completely at any given moment. John didn't tell anyone, for he knew that there was nothing any doctor could've done to save the fetus._

_By the time he finally made it home the process of miscarriage was almost over. Ignoring Sherlock's arched eyebrow he dashed into the bathroom and sunk down to the floor, unable to look towards the growing red stain on his pants. He hadn't been able to feel the life inside of him yet but he sure as hell felt it dying, with cramps and electric jolts of pain. A loud, shuddering breath escaped John while he curled tightly into himself but he didn't cry, didn't feel anything apart from a dull throb of pain._

_Sherlock didn't knock before entering the room. The detective's lips parted until the Alpha smelled and saw the blood. Understanding dawned._

_Seeing the look that flashed in his mate's eyes John emitted a soft, apologetic whimper, his eyes almost welling up. For once struck speechless Sherlock stood still for a second, then approached. Neither spoke while the taller man slumped to the floor beside him._

_John's head spun as his hand rose to where the baby had been only hours ago. He'd never felt so empty in his life. He gritted his teeth and couldn't meet his mate's eyes when he spoke. "I… I'm so sorry, Sherlock. That I couldn't…"_

_"Stop spouting nonsense." To anyone else it would've sounded hostile but John heard the undertones. The hurt, the grief, the anger that didn't really find a proper target. He wasn't sure if hearing all that made things better or worse._

_"Did you… know?" John didn't know why it felt so important. Perhaps he just needed to break the heavy silence that'd fallen._

_Sherlock took a deep breath. "I had my suspicions." The detective fidgeted but didn't quite reach out, most likely unsure if the physical contact would be appreciated. Couldn't the damn moron of a genius realize that John had never needed to be touched – held – as badly? "I… was hoping that you'd feel open to the idea when you found out. That you'd wish to have the child."_

_True, John had made it adamantly clear, several times over, that he didn't wish to have children. That he didn't see himself as a parent. But at the very moment the loss he'd just endured seemed to be crushing him. He couldn't stop himself from imagining just what their child would've been like. With a new, tightly restrained whimper he leaned his head against Sherlock's shoulder. "We… could try again."_

_Sherlock tensed up from shock and disbelief. Then, without a warning, the younger man practically melted against him. A firm, protective arm pulled him close. No more words were needed._

_And there, with John was bleeding out their first child, a new frail ray of hope pushed its way towards the surface._ /

* * *

Sherlock was at Angelo's early and hoped that his mate would take that as a sign of just how hard he was willing to try. He'd been sitting there for five endless minutes, his fingers unable to stop drumming the table before him, until he stiffened, sniffing. There was no mistaking that scent.

A couple of moments later John slid to the chair opposite from him, wary eyes observing him intently. A slight frown appeared. "You haven't been sleeping", the doctor noticed immediately. There was definitely worry coloring the Omega's voice.

It took Sherlock all he had to hold back a tiny smile. Oh yes, his mate most definitely still cared for him. "I'm living with Mycroft, John. How much sleep do you imagine I'd be able to get in the presence of that royal idiot?"

Ah, a success. John's eyes lit up for a moment before that bloody wall of steel fell once more, creating a wall of bricks between them. It took a while before the doctor spoke. "Sherlock… Before I let you meet Spencer I need to know that I can trust you. That you won't put us through… _this_ again."

Sherlock stared at his mate, a million memories speeding through his brain. A million emotions he wasn't ready to handle rising. And came to a conclusion that there was only one thing he could possibly do.

John's eyes widened and a rather radiant blush appeared when Sherlock took a firm hold on the front of his black shirt. "Sherlock, you can't…!" the doctor sputtered but never made it to the end. Because at that very moment Sherlock was able to show what he'd intended.

There, almost directly above his heart, was a scar Sebastian Moran's knife made.

(The mark was only a little bit lower than John's own scar.)

"They… said that I'm a lucky bastard to be alive. I don't believe in luck." He met John's eyes with absolutely everything there was inside of him, for once in his life unashamed of his feelings, not even trying to hide a thing. There was no pride, no dignity. Not if those would cost him his family. "Do you know what kept me alive? What kept me hanging on?" He gritted his teeth, feeling something so wild and primal that for a moment it overwhelmed him. "_You_ did. My family did. I knew that I had to fight to get back to you. I'm only alive because of you two. Don't take that away from me." _Please…! _That was the closest he could possibly get to admitting his emotions. To showing how damn much he cared. Now he could only wish that once again John would understand. That his mate's (if he still had one) wounds didn't run too deep.

John shivered and Sherlock could've sworn that the Omega's scent changed the slightest bit. He held his breath as the doctor's pupils dilated. Waiting for the verdict.

All of a sudden John was getting up. Those eyes held a million things all at once. "Let's go. I want to show you something."

Sherlock didn't waste a second before following John.

* * *

Although he would've never admitted it out loud Sherlock's heart jumped just a little bit when he realized that John was taking him to Baker Street. There was a lot he would've wanted to say but he pressed his lips together tightly, fearing that even slightest disturbance might break something beyond repair. (He'd certainly done enough breaking and damaging already.)

The flat had the scent of a home. Of hope. Of a promise.

"I stopped updating my blog when you…" John swallowed down the rest and for a moment ache that might very well never disappear completely flashed in those eyes. It took a couple of seconds before the doctor had gathered himself. "It wasn't… wasn't just that I thought that I'd never work another case with you ever again. I… I couldn't take those messages. People… The press… They were merciless on you."

_On both of us, no doubt_, Sherlock mused. His jaw tightened to a painful extend while he attempted to hold back the growl that wanted to erupt. There was a good reason why he detested most of the human kind.

John took a deep breath, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. "So… I posted my final blog. Told them that I was done. That the happiest time of my life was over and I'd have to figure out how to carry on all alone. That the world had just lost a good man that I'd always believe in. And if any of them still believed in you as well they should give you a thought every once in a while."

Sherlock was about to urge John to carry on until the Omega was suddenly moving, pulling a cardboard box from where it'd been hidden by a sofa. It was full of messages. The detective blinked a couple of times before John gestured for him to take a look.

With a slight bit of hesitation he would've never, ever expected to find from himself Sherlock did as he'd been told. The messages… were those of support. Kind words from individual people and even some organizations. People they'd helped. The hospital and military had sent John a couple of lines. Even the Yard had given its input. The words varied but the message was the same.

'_WE STILL BELIEVE._'

"You see, Sherlock… You were never fighting your war against Moriarty alone." John's eyes appeared slightly moist but there was a guarded smile on the doctor's face. "We were all right there behind you. I just… I wish you'd gotten that into that bloody thick skull of yours."

A wave of warmth crossed Sherlock but his heart was still restless. He needed to know… "I don't care about the other people, John." For once in his life the great detective felt actual fear. "I need to know if you still believe in me."

John's chuckle was moist. "Don't you get it already, you git?" The man's jaw twitched. "I'm still furious with you. You're not forgiven, not even close. But I'll never stop believing in you."

Sherlock's lips parted bu the words never made it out. There was no way he could've prepared himself properly before he was already out of time. The flat's door opened. And for only the second time ever the detective heard his son's voice. "_Uncle Greg, did you know that those birds…?_" Just then the little boy was stood by the room's doorway. Those very, very familiar eyes locked with Sherlock's and widened as the detective's heart skipped several valuable beats.

Greg's eyes widened as well and gained a bizarre look when they slowly took in the sight before them. In an instant the Beta took a step closer to Spencer, so that the DI was practically shielding the boy. Under different circumstances such might've roused Sherlock to the verge of doing something he might not have even regretted later. (That was _his_ child, goddamnit, not Greg's! His to protect, not to be protected _from him_!) But as it was all Sherlock had eyes for was his son.

Spencer… looked so much like him that it took his breath away for a very long time. With touches of John, like that nose and that jawline. He hadn't, however, expected to face all that fear and uncertainty.

"Pa…?"

* * *

John wasn't entirely sure if it was his Omega side or human side – which had in his childhood already seen one family falling apart right in front of him and sworn '_never again!_' – that reacted to his son's obvious distress, as much as to how Sherlock stiffened all of a sudden, obviously ready to bolt. Spencer's whisper pushed John into motion. It took all he had to keep his own emotional turmoil from taking over while he knelt to Spencer's side, attempted to offer a comforting look. "Yeah, sweetie. This is your pa."

Spencer seemed to mull those words over for the longest time, those eyes never once straying from Sherlock. Obviously there was something spinning around in the child's head. Eventually the boy leaned close to his ear with a agitated expression and whispered in a badly unsteady voice, like trusting him with a huge secret. "What if he doesn't like me? What if I make him go away again?"

John honestly couldn't tell if he wanted to laugh or cry at those words. Either way it took far longer than it should've before the words came. "Oh, sweetie… He's spent every single day he was away dreaming of you. So trust me, he will like you very, very much. In fact…" He blinked furiously. "He loves you from the bottom of his heart, Spence. Just like I do."

Spencer was unnaturally quiet for a second before daring to whisper. "You sure?"

John nodded, wiping his eyes swiftly and subtly. Like a good soldier. "Yeah, sweetie. I'm absolutely sure."

Spencer nodded. Without questioning any further, forgiving and trusting like only a child can, their son made his way to Sherlock slowly, very shyly. John tensed up a little bit, wondering how it would all play out. Beside him Greg took a step closer, obviously ready intervene. Nothing such was, however, needed.

John had never seen the kind of a expression on Sherlock's face that took over at that very moment. "Daddy probably told you that I had to perform a magic trick to keep you two safe?"

Spencer nodded slowly, a hint of curiosity appearing.

Sherlock took a breath, one hand moving. "Well, then… I'd like to show you another one." It was impossible to tell which occupant of the room tensed up the furthest when the detective's hand rose to Spencer's ear, reaching out. "Now what do you have here?" And there, right before their eyes, the Alpha pulled out a coin, placing it gently to the boy's hand. "Didn't daddy teach you to wash behind the ears?"

For a moment Spencer just stood, clearly not quite knowing how to react. But then, taking every adult present by surprise, the child began to giggle. "That was a silly trick."

Oh no, John's heart wasn't quite ready to forgive yet. Let alone trust. But still… Watching his mate and their son made something shift deep within him. The tiniest of smiles appeared to his lips.

* * *

That evening getting Spencer to bed took far longer than usual, convincing Greg that it was perfectly alright to leave even longer. In the end John stood alone in the middle of the living room, his eyes scanning through the evidence of about a million silly little magic tricks. He watched, breathed, allowed his head to spin around. Then moved.

Apparently Spencer hadn't been the only overly exhausted member of their little family. Sherlock had most likely intended to sit and wait until they'd have the time to talk but in the end the detective had fallen asleep on their bedroom's armchair, head dipped backwards in a way that'd definitely result to a aching neck. The rest didn't appear peaceful, though. There was a frown, of pain or fear was impossible to tell. Every now and then a incomprehensible word was mumbled.

John frowned, taking a instinctive step forward. Both his human and Omega side reacting unwillingly to the Alpha's loudly present discomfort, wanting to fix it. He licked his lips, then whispered. "Sherlock?"

John had faced his fair share of nightmares – far more of them than should've been possible for one person. He should've known that going too close was a bad idea. But his inbuilt desire to protect and mend overruled all self preservation instincts.

The looming thought 'This may be a bad idea' didn't even register to John until he'd already laid a hand to Sherlock's shoulder. A fist came flying towards him before either one of them had the chance to see it coming. Sherlock's eyes flew open, full of unmasked terror and pain, the exact second John stumbled backwards with a hand on his cheek, his whole body burning with adrenaline and startle.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, both struggling to comprehend that what just took place actually happened. It was Sherlock who spoke first. "John, I'm so…!"  
John shook his head, hating the way his hands shook. "I… I should've known better. I made a mistake." His cheek hurt like hell, mostly because the injury was caused by someone who should've never, ever been capable of harming him. _I never learn, do I?_ He gritted his teeth so tightly that it became painful. "But what if it was Spencer? What if the next time you have nightmares around here it's our son who tries to wake you up?" John was about to go on until he saw something that stunned him to utter silence for several beats.

Sherlock's whole frame was trembling pitiably as the detective stared at him, visibly fighting furiously not to reach out towards the Omega's injury. Gasping for breath. Without any mercy whatsoever a couple of tears rolled, soon followed by more. And just like that the mighty, self diagnosed sociopath fell apart right in front of him.

John couldn't hold himself back for another second. Not saying or asking a thing he pulled himself together and wrapped his arms around his mate, holding the aching Alpha as close to him as humanly possible. After a little bit of shock Sherlock returned his embrace, with such despair that just about took John's breath away. There they stayed, two wounded soldiers, until they'd managed to pick up enough sharp shards of their damaged pride to speak.

John swallowed and closed his eyes, inhaling his mate's familiar scent. His hands were perfectly even all of a sudden. "Sherlock… You're going to have to do something about these nightmares. About those goddamn shadows hiding in your eyes. Otherwise I can't trust you with our son."

Sherlock kept holding him, highly likely mostly to avoid meeting his eyes. "What do you suggest I should do, then?" The detective's voice was oddly hoarse.

John's breath shuddered. "Talk to me, Sherlock. _Talk_. Tell me everything."

Sherlock was absolutely quiet and terrifyingly still for exactly ten minutes and fifteen seconds. During those unnerving moments neither one of them was sure how this would all turn out. Then, in a voice John could barely hear, Sherlock began his tale.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear… (gulps) They're still on the right track. But it looks like there's quite a turbulence incoming. Because the story ain't over yet.

PLEASE, do let me know your thoughts and feelings on this! Awww, c'mon, it's the fastest and cheapest good deed for the day you could find. (winks and grins)

IN THE NEXT ONE: Sherlock keeps stumbling while trying to work things out with John, especially after discovering the doctor's secret. Feelings are wounded, and in the end it all comes down to a heated night… Next one up, 'Break Me, Shake Me'.

Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll all join in then.

Take care!

* * *

Because we're almost halfway through I'll give you something special. A little taste of what's to come…

* * *

It's been three years and the dead have come back to life. But that's only just the beginning. Because putting back together shattered hearts is not easy. Or painless.

/ "Yes, I am fucking upset when my Omega allows himself to be touched by someone else! Did he ever tell you that?" The amount of hurt was unbelievable. "While I was out there fighting Moriarty's web he slept with someone else!" /

Hearts and souls have been broken. A bond has been damaged. Is there a way to mend them once more?

/ John bit his teeth together once more, bringing a gentle hand to throbbing flesh. "Get the hell out of here, Sherlock. Before I'm nothing to you." /

The price of a failure is unacceptable.

/ Spencer grinned radiantly and began to wave. "Pa! Pa! We're here!" The man didn't seem to hear. Instead Sherlock kept walking away with hasty, brisk steps, his back turned sharply towards them. And disappeared. /

The wounds run deep and the time to mend them is running out. There are only so many chances a person is granted. There are only so many miracles.

/ The realization washed John him like cool water, making his eyes widen and causing his heart to skip in a unhealthy way.

_Shit…! Shit, shit, shit…!_ /

One of them… may be the last.

/ "There's… There's been an accident. Just… Just get to St. Bart's as fast as you can, alright?" /


	9. Break Me, Shake Me

A/N: Just as I was supposed, I'm back and right on the four day interval! (grins) Yosh?

First off, a thousand times thank you for all the love and support you've given this story! It really does mean the world to me. So thank you! (HUGS) You guys are amazing. Period.

Awkay… (takes a breath) Because I can't find any reasons to keep stalling further, let's get going. I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Break Me, Shake Me

* * *

/ _After his miscarriage John found himself hesitant to participate… intimate activities. Sure, he and Sherlock made love every now and then. But it didn't quite feel like it once did. Nor did his body allow another heat to rise inside. Until one morning four months after the miscarriage. At a crime scene, no less, while he was examining the strangled body of a filthy rich middle aged woman. The heat snuck up on John unannounced, so subtly that it took him a long moment to realize what was going on. When he did his eyes widened and his heartrate sped up. "You've gotta be kidding me…!" Well, wasn't this just his typical luck…_

_Sherlock, who'd been examining something a couple of steps away, didn't look towards him. "Did you say something?" When John didn't manage to utter a response the detective gave a small grunt. "If Lestrade's texting you again…" It was around then things seemed to click. The Alpha sniffed the air and those eyes widened a fraction, a somewhat wild look taking over. "I see."_

_John shook his head, his whole body trembling pitiably. He swallowed thickly while flames danced everywhere underneath his skin. "Look, we can't do… it here. Okay?" His eyes darted around. "Someone could walk in. And this is a crime scene…!"_

_Sherlock was, apparently, quite done with listening. Before John got the slightest chance to protest hands and lips were all over him. No matter how hard he attempted to control himself his body began to respond. Soon he wouldn't be able to hold himself back… "There… There's a dead woman right next to us!" he sputtered helplessly._

_Sherlock shrugged. "So what? Do you think she'll mind?"_

_"We can't contaminate a crime scene!"_

_"I already know who the murderer is", Sherlock growled in a far too seductive way, not pausing his ministrations for even a second. "So are you going to let me take care of our problem – which is expanding quickly, may I add – or are we going to keep arguing about this?"_

_Soon John came hard right next to the corpse and decided immediately to leave it out of his blog._ /

* * *

Mycroft Holmes didn't have a paternal bone in his body. But somehow, no matter how many scarred layers kept the true soul hidden under an armor, he had a feeling that his brother was a different story. '_Alone protects me_', Sherlock said but he'd seen the way the detective looked at families since they were children. For once he saw something the mighty genius didn't manage to deduce.

Two thirty in the morning Mycroft unleashed a nearly soundless sigh while observing from his laptop's screen as recorded footage from a security camera streamed on. It was a daytime clip from a nearby park. There, right before his eyes, Sherlock was pushing the swing while Spencer squealed loudly out of delight, small arms flailing with excitement. "_Higher, pa! Higher! 'Wanna go all the way around!_" That was Sherlock's son indeed.

Spencer laughed even harder as the speed escalated and from a small distance John appeared worried for a moment before allowing him a small smile the doctor was highly likely unaware of. What caught Mycroft's attention, however, was Sherlock.

He'd never, ever seen that look in his brother's eyes before. That devotion. That complete serenity. That satisfaction. That _love_. For those few moments the scarred, traumatized soul was at peace.

Hearing a muffled, strangled cry from the guest room Mycroft grabbed the table before him so hard that his knuckles turned white to keep himself from responding. His whole face tensed up to a painful extend. A yet another nightmare.

Listening to his brother's continuing, strangled cries and whimpers Mycroft closed his eyes, desperately trying to lose himself into the image of Sherlock with Spencer and John. He focused and prayed to a higher power he didn't even really believe in. Prayed that Sherlock wouldn't lose his whole world once again.

Because without John and Spencer… there'd be nothing left of his brother.

* * *

"This is our fifth session together, Sherlock." Psychiatrist Nina Langley, who'd treated several Alphas and Omegas during her career, didn't lean forward on her chair. Instead she tilted her head ever so slightly, letting her long and neatly braided, chestnut colored hair fall. "As highly entertaining as I find these chess games I'd like to see some progress."

Apparently John had eventually found a new therapist. And after Sherlock had told the Omega _almost_ the full story of what'd happened during his time away John had seen it fit that he'd meet her as well. Sherlock didn't believe in therapists. The last time he sat in front of one they went on and on about his sister's death, then had him locked up for almost a full year to a pit of hell where he was pumped full of medication. It was no wonder that he became an addict with '_treatment_' like that. But Sherlock believed in John, and was willing to do just about anything to maintain whatever little faith in him the Omega still had in return. Even if it meant answering idiotic questions. The background check he demanded from Mycroft had proven this so called doctor at least somewhat trustworthy, anyway.

Sherlock gritted his teeth while making his move. He was exhausted from having stayed up for two nights straight and definitely on the edge. This lousy excuse of a doctor was getting on his nerves. "I've already told you. We're sorting out everything. We have our… system. I'll visit on Tuesdays and Fridays to spend time with Spencer. We're managing."

"That's not what I've been hearing from John", Dr. Langley pointed out. Her move was swift, sharp and effective. She could just feel the Alpha's irritation. "He's worried about you. And from what I've heard he has a good reason to be. You're having violent nightmares. Sometimes flashbacks that freeze you completely. You barely eat. It doesn't sound quite like PTSD but it's close."

This time there was definitely a reaction. Sherlock didn't look Dr. Langley's way but at the age of forty-eight she was no spring chicken. She could tell that the Alpha was keeping an eye on her as the man's jawline tightened. Those eyes, though… They were a great deal softer than usual. "Do you ever talk about _John_ during your sessions?" She'd never heard that tone of a voice before. He actually hesitated for a couple of seconds before making his move. "You know… When I told him… everything John said that it's my only option. To come here, I mean. He said that I need help. That's the only reason I'm here. Not because I'd need your pity."

Dr. Langley bit back a smile while her brown eyes softened. "You've been through a lot, Sherlock. And I doubt that you would've told him _or_ me the full story just yet. You just came back from the dead to a mate who doesn't know how to trust you and to a son who lived his first three years without you. To a world that moved on without you. I'd say that it's quite alright to need some help in that situation."

Sherlock actually gave her a look at that one. It was impossible to decipher what was behind it. Then, just as quickly and subtly, looked away. "Hmph."

Dr. Langley inhaled deeply, her eyes on the chess board. "It's not going to work in the long run." There was an opening on the board. But not in Sherlock's eyes. "Doing this only for him, I mean. Or for your son. Because in the end you're only going to get better if you do this for yourself."

Sherlock gave her a wry, nearly venomous look. "_Stop_ that. I'm sick and tired of everyone trying to fix me. I want my goddamn life back." The Alpha's hand shook while making a brash and aggressive move. "I want my family back."

Dr. Langley bit back a groan, feeling the first hint of a headache kicking in. This was beginning to feel like slamming her head profusely against a wall of bricks. But maybe, just maybe, this was finally the cue she'd been waiting for. Taking a risk, deciding that she had nothing to lose, she swung hell a lot harder. And lower. "Well, in that case you'd better start working with me. Because as much as John loves you he doesn't want Spencer around a broken, self destructive war veteran. He'd know one. What they need is someone who is at least trying to heal."

She'd never faced eyes like those before. Sherlock actually growled and for a moment she wondered if she'd pushed too far. "I… don't want to talk about John anymore. Understood?"

She frowned and watched, realizing that it looked like she'd indeed hit a sore spot. One that needed to be explored. "Usually he's all we talk about. You try to fish out information on his sessions and I dodge the best as I can." She leaned forward once more, paying barely any attention to the chess set. "What's going on?"

Sherlock fidgeted. It was barely traceable but still. The man's left eyebrow twitched. "It's your move, doc."

Oh, she wasn't falling for that one. She pursed her lips, coming to a deduction. "Something's happened between the two of you. John's upsetted you."

The eruption was so abrupt that it caught even her off guard. Sherlock's eyes flamed for a microsecond before the Alpha was already snarling. (Definitely the Alpha, for there was no way the human side would've been capable of such rage.) "Yes, I am fucking upset when my Omega allows himself to be touched by someone else! Did he ever tell you that?" The amount of hurt was unbelievable. "While I was out there fighting Moriarty's web he slept with someone else! He slept with someone else and had the nerve to say that it didn't mean anything! He allowed someone else inside him!"

Dr. Langley winced. She'd feared that this topic would come out eventually. "Sherlock, calm down before I have to give you an injection for both our sakes. Alright?" Her order made him quiet but none less threatening. She took a deep breath, wondering how to proceed on this thin ice. "You were gone for three years, as far as he knew dead. That's a very long time."

Sherlock snorted bitterly. "You're telling _me_ that?"

She went on, not letting him deter her. It took a second before she realized that it was her move, in several ways. "How, exactly, did it come up? Did you ask him?"

Of course he did. After a long absence any Alpha would want to know if their mate had been touched. Sherlock nodded stiffly, seeming to sink into a world of his own. "It happened two and a half years after I… left. Just that one time. He… He said that it wasn't another Alpha – that he'd never let another Alpha lay a hand on him. They were both drunk out of their minds and he missed me so much that it hurt. He needed the comfort. The… intimacy."

Dr. Langley felt a bang of sympathy towards both men. She gave the Alpha a moment before going on. "How did you react?" She had a bad feeling that she already knew.

Sherlock's shoulders slumped slightly while the detective made a one more move. "I… broke something. I don't remember what. Then I left. I haven't been back since."

Dr. Langley fought back a grimace. Alphas and their goddamn pride… "I'm not undermining your hurt. But I need you to think about this from John's point of view, for just a second. He was grieving and lonely. He'd lost you. Like I said, three years is a long time. Did you expect him to live in celibacy for the rest of his life?"

Sherlock gave her a moody look. His eyes were no longer hostile, though. "Since you seem to know everything, what the hell am I supposed to do, then?"

Dr. Langley fought back a smirk. Perhaps she was finally getting somewhere. "I need you to decide if this is something you want to lose your family over. Because that's your call, not mine." She glanced down at the chess board and allowed herself a grin. "Let's finish this game. I'm winning."

"You enjoy deluding yourself, don't you?"

* * *

Tuesday turned into Wednesday, marking the third time Sherlock had missed a meeting with John and Spencer. As much as it pained John that he'd wounded his mate, possibly badly enough to chase the Alpha away for good, it hurt even more to see what all the disappointments did to Spencer. The boy had barely began to accept the fact that he had two living parents, after all, and now this. No matter how furious John wanted to be with Sherlock – they didn't deserve this, _Spencer_ didn't deserve this! – he also blamed himself. It was his decision. His moment of weakness. If he'd been a good Omega… His human side raged against that trail of thought.

It was eleven in the evening and Spencer had gone to sleep long since, leaving John with far too much silence and time to think. In the end the lonely, heartbroken and confused Omega headed towards Sherlock's room without the slightest idea of what he was planning on doing. He froze mid-step when there was a knock on the flat's door. A frown appeared to his face.

Mrs. Hudson had headed out for a date a while ago. Greg never stopped by at this hour, knowing how hard it was to get Spencer to sleep if the child's rest was disturbed. And surely it couldn't be….

Yet it was.

John's eyes widened and something jumped inside his stomach, just like had happened every time he met his mate ever since the first time he lay his eyes on the detective. He blinked. The figure stood by the doorway didn't disappear. "Sherlock? What…?"

Lips slamming against his chased away whatever the heck there'd been forming inside his head. The kiss was hard, aggressive and demanding, definitely coming from Sherlock's Alpha side. John moaned and shivered, almost sure that his lips were bruised. It hurt when teeth came out to play, grabbing his lower lip, but the Omega couldn't bring himself to step away. Couldn't even though he knew perfectly what was going on.

This wasn't an act of intimacy. This wasn't affection. This was Sherlock marking him as his property. While the human in John was fuming the Omega allowed the gesture, welcomed his mate's mark.

He'd missed being Sherlock's so much…

In the end reason sobered his head. John pulled away with a hiss, not liking the taste of blood in his mouth. His eyes were lava when he pressed a ginger hand to the injury and glared at his mate. "Sherlock, you can't just barge in here and…!"

"Don't ever make me think that I've lost you again." Sherlock's eyes… For once there wasn't the slightest attempt of hiding emotions – it was all right there, loud and clear. The sheer force would've taken anyone's breath away. "I… After all _that_ I can't just lose you." That was the closest to saying 'I love you' Sherlock had ever come, could ever get. And all of a sudden John didn't have the slightest clue what to do with himself.

He never had to time to make up his mind. Because without anything further Sherlock turned and walked away, closing the door just quietly enough not to disturb Spencer. Leaving John nursing his lip and wondering what the hell just happened.

Less than an hour later John hit his first heat since Sherlock's fall. As soon as Harry showed up – highly irritated but surprisingly understanding and only slightly homicidal – the doctor dashed out. There was only one target in his mind.

* * *

When Sherlock opened the door of Mycroft's flat several hours later – deeply annoyed, for he'd been planning on enjoying the night when his brother was out of the city to attend to a conference – he expected to find a yet another complaining neighbor. They didn't exactly appreciate his late hour experiments, which were quite loud more often than not. Instead, however, Shelock found himself face to face with John.

Sherlock blinked a couple of times. Despite the wave of guilt and ache at the sight of the doctor's busted lip something dangerously close to lust was already stirring inside of him. It took all he had not to… "It's not Tuesday or Friday", he pointed out, sounding slightly out of breath. And then, instinctively sniffing the air, he caught it. Suddenly there was no question of why his mate had arrived. One eyebrow arched.

_Oh…!_

Despair, anger, lust, affection and even fear were loudly present in John's eyes while the Omega licked his lips, trembling visibly. "I… I'm not ready to trust you fully yet. I… I'm not sure if I've forgiven you. Or if you'll ever forgive me. But… I… Please…!"

Sherlock needed no further encouragement. With such passion that caught both of them off guard he stepped closer to John and pulled the doctor close, sealing them into a kiss that left them breathless. They parted growling and panting, shivering against one another's warmth.

It'd been such a long time…

All self control either man had been able to hang on to was thrown into the wind. They barely remembered to close the door before clothes were already flying, eager lips and hands finding their way everywhere. They touched, tasted, relished. Trying to repair a bond that'd been strained so very hard. Mycroft's bed moaned when their conjoined weight landed on it.

John's eyes were darker than usual as they bore into his. "This is Mycroft's bed", the Omega pointed out breathlessly. "We shouldn't…"

Sherlock growled, keeping a firm hold of his Omega. There was no way he'd be letting John go anywhere. "He'll just have to understand."

A chuckle escaped John. The Omega's eyes weren't exactly human anymore. "I'm still pissed off at him, anyway. Fuck Mycroft."

If Sherlock hadn't been hard and eager already those words would've most certainly pushed him over the edge. He growled and attacked John's naked skin with such fire that in a slightly more coherent state of mind he might've been worried that he'd damage something. As it was he couldn't think at all.

They explored one another's new scars, kissed each and every single one of them as though it would've been possible to wipe them away. The Alpha shivered with worry, pleasure, remorse and breathtaking joy while trailing kisses down the scar through which their son had been pulled away. He couldn't believe that he'd been forced to miss the most important day of his life.

Trembling slightly under the attention the Omega brushed his scars in return. Several cuts on his arms and legs. Signs of broken bones that'd been tended by some questionable doctors he'd managed to find. And finally, almost hesitantly, the scar that almost killed him for real. Signs of a war the detective went through all alone. Sherlock silenced the mourn filled moan that came from John with a sound of his own.

_Don't you understand already? I'd take all of them a thousand times over for you and our son._

John looked into his eyes for the longest time, like searching for something. Then smiled in a way that Sherlock thought he'd never see again. And for the first time since his return the detective felt like his mate was really right there with him.

Nails dug deep, like both of them had been worried that the other might slip away somehow. When it wasn't enough teeth came out to play. With those harsh, hungry kisses they shed all their hurt, loneliness, terror, frustration, guilt and love. Allowed their bodies to express what they would've never, ever had words for.

Their eyes met, misty with such heat they couldn't have even imagined. All the unresolved, possibly irreparable things between them didn't matter. Their bodies began to respond without a beat of hesitation.

With a soft, caressing whimper John arched closer to Sherlock, sending a loudly speaking request. Sherlock's response was instant. Not wasting another second – they'd wasted too damn much time already – he pushed himself into John. Felt his mate, as intimately as one possibly could experience another being.

There was no control anymore. No reason. No sanity. No matter, they both preferred it exactly like that.

Mycroft's bedsheet became ruined and the sounds that erupted in the covers of the night most likely traumatized several neighbors.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Awkay… (takes a breath) That… was quite something. There's still a lot of wonds and scars between them. We'll see just what happens next. Because this is bound to blow up one way or the other…

BUT, now… How was that? Any good, at all? There's that small box down below calling out to you. Awww, c'mon, the day's good deed is right there. (winks)

IN THE NEXT ONE: Sherlock and John are truly trying. But it looks like fate's still not on their side. While John gets a surprise of his own Sherlock learns just who it was that John ended up sleeping with during his presumed death. Will the revelation tear them apart for good? Next one up, 'Shock Therapy'.

I've gotta get going now. (pouts) Until next time, folks! 'Hope I'll see each and every single one of you there.

Take care!


	10. Shock Therapy

A/N: Yosh, I did manage to update today! (grins) To be perfectly honest I'm enjoying working with this ficcie a lot more than I probably should.

And, it's a huge pleasure to discover that it seems I'm not alone on this journey. THANK YOU, so, so much, for all the love and support you've given this story! (HUGS) I'll do my best to make this worthy of your expectations, I promise.

Awkay… Because I don't want to get all sappy let's ROCK! I really hope that you'll enjoy this emotional lil' piece.

* * *

Shock Therapy

* * *

/ _Some short weeks after his and Sherlock's smouldering moment of intimacy at the crime scene John began to feel odd. He was nauseous more often than not and he felt restless, wary. This time he suspected before Sherlock did. Surprisingly the detective didn't object when he dragged the man with him to the pharmacy._

_A frown lingered on Sherlock's face while they stood between the rows, inspecting the products before them. "Are you sure, John?" Before he could do a thing the Alpha sniffed him, like it'd been the most natural thing in the world. "You don't smell pregnant to me."_

_John's cheeks were flushed and his eyes darted around, some relief spreading through when he discovered that no one had noticed. "Sherlock, you can't just sniff me in public! And yes, I'm… pretty sure. I don't know. That's why we're here."_

_Sherlock frowned again. Clearly deducing. "You're scared."_

_John's sighed, taking a pregnancy test with a unsteady hand. "Let's… Let's just get this over with."_

_Two hours and ten positive test results later they were indeed finally convinced. That night they fell asleep with Sherlock's hand on John's stomach where the frail beginning of a life couldn't possibly be felt just yet. Both blissfully unaware of the tragedies that lay in the horizon. Already Moriarty's shadow lay heavily on all three of them. In less than eight months two of them would be gone._ /

* * *

Sherlock woke up to the scent of blood, sweat and semen. (When in the world did he fall asleep?) In an instant he smirked, revealing a row of perfect teeth and emitting a nearly purring sound of pleasure. He even welcomed the throbbing in his most private area. The bliss lasted until the very second he realized that the other side of the bed was empty.

His eyes flew wide open while ice cold dread spread through.

The panic lasted until Spencer's voice drifted to Sherlock's ears. There was even some giggling, along with John's soft voice. The two were obviously trying not to disturb the detective's rest.

Barely daring to believe that it was all real Sherlock climbed out of the bed, slowly and cautiously, then began to make his way towards the voices. A great part of him fearing that he'd wake up any given second, just like he had about a million times before. He didn't, not even when he paused by the kitchen's doorway. For one reason or another the sight he faced made his legs grow a little weak.

His family was right there, sitting at a table. Spencer was drawing while John sipped tea, keeping watch with loving and obviously protective eyes. It was exactly like Sherlock had always dreamt it. Only this time it wasn't a trick of his mind.

Instead John looked up and saw him. After a couple of seconds the doctor offered him a tiny, slightly guarded smile. "Good morning. We were wondering how long it'd take before you'd wake up."

Also noticing him Spencer gave a hesitant wave, overjoyed, confused and wary. "'Morning, pa."

Sherlock felt a sharp twinge inside. It was all his fault that his own son seemed scared of him. Or maybe afraid of being hurt again. "Morning." His mouth opened but for some reason the words wouldn't come out. There was three years' worth of unsaid things blocking the path.

The look in John's eyes changed slightly before the Omega focused on their son. "Why don't you finish that drawing? Pa and I need to have a adult talk."

Spencer nodded, seeming to be deep in thought. After making sure that the child was focused on the artwork John got up and made his way to Sherlock, gesturing the detective to follow. The Alpha obeyed like a prisoner approaching a execution stand.

John began to speak as soon as the door had been closed. "I went through a hell while you were away. Several times over. I almost lost our son." Those eyes examined his, burning so deep that it made him feel uncomfortable. "I… have some huge memory gaps from last night. But… I do recall your scars. I wasn't the only one who went through hell. Sometimes… I forget."

Sherlock shivered. A dangerous amount of hope began to rise in the pit of his stomach. Was his Omega really offering him a chance? For once in his life he chose his words carefully. "I was all alone, John. And I didn't even know when I'd get the chance to come back home. If I'd ever get the chance to see you again. Or if I'd ever see our child. And I…" He ran a hand through his hair and gritted his teeth, the doctor's admittance a lifetime ago still burning his mind like acid. "Years passed and I knew that you were moving on. That… someone else would claim you. That in time you'd forget about me."

Something unidentifiable flashed in John's eyes. Hurt, perhaps. Or guilt. "You git…! How could I ever forget you? Or move on from you? You're my mate!" The intensity behind those words caught both of them off guard, stirred something neither was quite ready to face yet. The Omega cleared his throat, eyes darting. "Why don't you go and check up on Spence? I'll go and buy us something that'd suffice as breakfast. Harry didn't feed Spence before dropping him off."

Sherlock nodded and watched his mate go, not missing a beat. It took all his willpower not to reach out, to give the other man the much needed room. But he was determined to do things right at least this once.

Just before the man had left completely John turned towards him. "Just so you know… While you were away Spence's been asking about you. Quite lot, actually. He kept having intense dreams about you. I leave you to your deductions." Which was exactly what the Omega did.

At first Sherlock simply stared, his heart fluttering in a foreign way. In a few moments several things began to click into place. A small smile appeared to the Alpha's face.

_My family._ Perhaps he hadn't lost it, after all. They still cared.

Just as he was wondering how to approach his son fate made the decision for him. There was a thud, followed by a muffled cry. Alpha's instincts activating instantly Sherlock was moving before a single thought made it to his head. He had no idea what to do once the sight met him.

Spencer had, apparently, tried to peer through the window to see where John went but the boy's balance had broken. At the moment the boy was on the floor, his cheek slightly reddened and knees brought tightly to his chest. Spencer was fighting back tears so hard that his whole small frame was trembling pitiably.

Sherlock approached with caution, seeing all too clearly how uncomfortable his presence made the boy. His own son. "Are you… alright?"

Spencer looked at him with eyes he never, ever wanted to see again. The expression was nothing short of wounded. And it was at that very moment he realized just how much bitter damage he'd inflicted. The boy didn't move a muscle or speak.

When John was pregnant Sherlock kept researching, desperate to know what his mate was going through while he was far away, unable to take part. After Spencer was born he kept studying each and every step a child of his son's age was developing. He knew, with utmost certainty, that if there'd been a proper bond between them Spencer would've already come to him for comfort. His own son wasn't supposed to be staring at him like he was a total stranger or worse.

Sherlock gulped and took a deep breath, wondering how in the world he was supposed to handle this situation. In the end he beckoned the boy to come towards him. "Come here, Spencer."

Spencer appeared hesitant and scared. But in the end the need to feel comforted crushed all the doubts. So fast that the little boy almost fell again the child stumbled towards him, wrapped a pair of tiny arms around him with far more force than he'd expected. In a matter of seconds heartwrenching sobs began to spill, along with barely audible words. "Are you… Are you here, pa? For real?"

Sherlock felt like he'd been stabbed right through his heart. His lips opened but all of a sudden there wasn't a word left in his head. Instead he tightened his hold on still sobbing Spencer, unsure if he'd ever manage to let go again. Tightened his hold, hoping and praying that he wouldn't cause his son any more nightmares.

* * *

Six weeks slipped by almost unnoticeably. After that emotional morning things began to change, slowly yet surely. Sherlock didn't quite move back into Baker Street but he ended up spending much more of his time there than at Mycroft's apartment. Never overnight but still. With a great deal of pleasure he observed how the tension, wariness and doubt began to fade from John's face. It felt even better to discover that Spencer was slowly yet surely beginning to warm up to him, letting him closer. Sherlock had never experienced anything even close to what came over him whenever he spent quality time with his son, not with any case or illegal substance.

That particular evening it was already past Spencer's bedtime but much to Sherlock's relief John didn't even mention it – his Omega probably understood how much their entire little family needed the time together. The three of them were sitting on a couch, staring at TV. Or well, not all of them. At some point Spencer had fallen asleep, halfway sitting on Sherlock's lap with one small hand clutching the detective's shirt as tightly as it possibly could. Quiet, extremely adorable sleeping noises were coming from the child. Sherlock wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to let his son any further than that.

Or John, for the matter. His mate wasn't sitting much further away than Spencer, for once perfectly calm and relaxed in his presence. There was this odd peace between them. Such that made all kinds of dangerous hopes swell inside Sherlock once again.

A laugh coming from the TV-screen demanded Sherlock's attention. What Sherlock discovered made his heart shudder. Warmth mixed with ache.

On the screen Spencer, a great deal smaller than now, was eating all by himself for the first time. A great deal of mess and a massive grin on his face. Obviously very proud of himself.

"I missed out on so much", Sherlock whispered, not realizing that he said it out loud until his partner looked towards him.

All of a sudden he felt a hand in his. John's eyes were warm, soothing. "Don't worry. There's still a lot to come."

Sherlock stared at his Omega for a moment, trying to deduce harder than ever in his life. Then, deciding that this risk might just be worth taking, he reached out an arm. Careful not to disturb Spencer he wrapped the limb around John, pulling the doctor closer.

John tensed up at first. A look of surprise could be seen on the Omega's face while the man fought with himself for a second. Then, slowly, practically melted against Sherlock.

Sherlock had never felt quite so warm and content in his life.

He must've been a great deal more tired than he'd thought because he fell asleep right there, with his family in his arms, safe and sound. When he woke up Spencer was gone – and so was John. But only for a moment.

Entering the room the doctor gave him a small smile, rubbing his face as though trying to wake up properly. "I just took Spence to bed. It looks like we all fell asleep. It's three in the morning."

Sherlock nodded and swallowed, not liking the taste lingering in his mouth. His body felt stiff when he pushed himself up. "I… guess I should head back to Mycroft's."

He was already putting his coat on when John spoke, so quietly that he nearly missed it. "Sherlock… What if you'd spend the rest of the night here?"

Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction. The Alpha inside of him was purring when he turned slowly to face his mate. "Are you… sure?"

John nodded. There was no hesitation in those eyes. "Just to sleep, keep that in mind. I mean… Wouldn't it be silly to go out there at this hour when we have a perfectly good bed here?"

Sherlock's face melted to a rare smile.

* * *

The following morning Sherlock woke up – for the first time in far too long – to the familiar warmth of his mate. Not daring to open his eyes in fear of breaking the illusion he sniffed, savouring John's scent, then wrapped his arms around the smaller man and pulled him closer. John emitted a small purr of delight in response, nuzzling closer readily and willingly.

Sherlock sighed. At the moment he was too drowsy and comfortable to hold back the words that wanted to come out. "I've missed you."

John's hand took his and squeezed tightly, determinedly. "I've missed you, too", the doctor whispered.

They could've stayed like that for hours, safe in each other's embrace and for the first time in eternity free of all nightmares, if there wasn't a knock on the flat's door.

Sherlock growled, revealing his fangs. His hold on his mate tightened subconsciously. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me…!"

John chuckled. "You're still a grouch in the morning, then. Now stop pouting. You're worse than Spence."

Reluctantly the two of them abandoned the comfort of their close proximity and the bed, heading towards the door. It's impossible to tell which one of the three was the most surprised when they discovered Greg Lestrade.

The DI blinked a couple of times, then managed a tiny wave. "Uh… Hi. I… wasn't interrupting anything, was I?"

_Hell yes! _Sherlock's left eyebrow twitched. "Get to the point, Lestrade."

"Mycroft couldn't contact you so he decided to send me." There was a look he couldn't decipher on the DI's face. "Apparently there's a case he wants to introduce to you."

A spark the detective had been missing like crazy lit up. In a flash he was moving, wheels already turning in his head. It wasn't until he was already at the doorway he realized that John wasn't following him. He gave the doctor a impatient look. "Come on, John. Let's go."

The Omega chuckled. "We have a child, remember? I need to arrange a babysitter."

Sherlock's nose wrinkled. How did he not come to think of that? "Dull."

John looked at him with some amusement. '_Really now, Sherlock?_' those eyes said. "Send me the location and I'll join you as soon as I can."

"I'll give him a ride", Greg offered.

Under different circumstances Sherlock might've sensed that something was off between those two. But for the first time since his return from the death a case was calling. The adrenaline rush it brought overshadowed everything else. It took a lot of willpower from him not to reach out and kiss John, even if it'd been just to show the DI who the Omega belonged to. Instead he gave the doctor a loudly speaking look before turning and walking away.

Sherlock had made it to the final step until he realized that he'd forgotten his cell phone. Muttering under his breath he turned and began to march up the stairs once more. Upon approaching he heard John and Greg talking.

"_… you tell him?_"

"_Of course not! It was just that one time. What good would knowing who I did it with do to him?_" John sighed. "_We were both lonely and I was grieving._"

"_Are you saying that you regret it?_"

"_Of course not! That night… It did both of us good. At the time we both needed it. It was two friends comforting each other, that's all, and it was perfectly acceptable._" John sighed in a exasperated manner. "_But Sherlock… There's no way I could ever explain to him why I felt the need to sleep with you._"

Sherlock stood there and listened. Unable to keep those words from flooding right through, seeping into his buzzing head like acid. His blood fumed while a horrific, bitter taste filled his mouth.

He'd never dared to ask. John had never told him. Now he finally understood why. Understood why John and Greg never dared to look at each other into eye when he was around. Why they sometimes stopped talking when he appeared. The realization made him feel sick to his stomach.

Sherlock felt ready to do things that would've sent him to a jail for the rest of his miserable life. At very least he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. But he couldn't do any of those things. That's why he turned sharply on his heels and walked away, surprisingly quietly considering how much his feet weighed.

He wasn't sure if he'd ever manage to convince himself into returning.

* * *

Unaware of the keen ears that'd just been listening in on them John and Greg carried on talking.

The DI looked at his friend with a small smile. It was impossible to name the look in those eyes. "You really love him, don't you?"

John nodded slowly. Unsure why he felt the need to apologize. "From the bottom of my heart.I'm _his_, in a way that I can't explain", he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Although sometimes I just want to punch that git in the face."

Greg chuckled. Somehow that felt like a good place to end the conversation they'd been postponing for far too long. There was nothing else that could've been said over the matter without it causing irreversible damage.

"So…" John rubbed his hands together, feeling a desperate need to do _something_. "Could you make sure that Spence is still sleeping? I'll go and ask if Mrs. Hudson could keep an eye on him."

They'd almost parted ways when Greg spoke once more. "Hey, John?" The man's eyes were soften than usual. "Just so you know, he loves you too. So much that it terrifies him."

John couldn't hold back a smile. "I know." Still, it felt good to hear that he wasn't the only one who knew.

John had just made it back to the flat when the sick feeling that'd been swelling inside his stomach all morning decided to explode completely. He could feel Greg's worried eyes on him and was almost sure that the man said something but couldn't pay attention to the words. He barely made it to the bathroom before he was already throwing up violently.

Just like he had the past five mornings.

And three afternoons.

And four evenings.

Come to think of it, wasn't his heat a little late…?

The realization washed over him like cool water, making his eyes widen and causing his heart to skip in a unhealthy way.

_Shit…! Shit, shit, shit…!_

"John?" He shivered at the voice, not having heard Greg approaching. There was a worried look on the DI's face. "Are you… okay?"

John licked his lips, his whole body shaking violently. He nodded, then shook his head. The laughter that erupted was more than a little hysterical. "I… I have no bloody idea." His eyes were huge and wild when his thoughts whirred, even faster than his hammering heart. "I… think that I may be pregnant."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh… crap! (winces) Talking about a BAAAAAAAAD timing. Well, Sherlock so isn't going to handle this graciously. And if John's preggies again… Oh boy.

IN THE NEXT ONE: Sherlock reacts to his new discovery about as well as anyone could've expected. A nasty row is soon followed by a chilling phone call. Has this family ran out of miracles? Next up, 'Crash and Burn'.

SIX MORE TO GO, FOLKS.

Until next time! 'Hope you'll all join in then.

Take care!


	11. Crash and Burn

A/N: I'm baaaack! I would've updated yesterday but life decided to get in the way. (pouts) But worry not, the new chapter is here. Hooray?

First, though, THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all your reviews, listings and love! You have no idea of how happy you've made me. So THANK YOU! (hugs) You're precious, ya know?

Awkay, before I get all sappy, let's rock on! I really hope that you'll enjoy this one.

Beware, emotional turmoil incoming! (Pfft, what else is new…?)

* * *

Crash and Burn

* * *

/ _Sherlock could quite positively say that he'd never, ever been as terrified as he was on the day he faced John, wrapped up to such a amount of explosives that would've easily taken down the whole building. John, who was his mate, his Omega. John, who was five and a half months pregnant._

_He didn't think that he'd ever feel such intense fear ever again. He was quickly proven wrong. Because exactly ten minutes after it was all over John collapsed._

_Pacing around the hospital's waiting room like a caged tiger Sherlock allowed his thoughts to whir. His brain went through about a million different ideas of what Moriarty could've done to John. He thought, thought and thought until he'd nearly lost whatever little sanity he'd had left._

_After a eternity a young female doctor with shortcut blond hair and brown eyes walked in, a defeated look on her face. Sherlock's stomach dropped long before the words left her mouth. "John is going to be fine, although we were worried for a moment. But the baby… There was some heavy bruising on John's abdominal area. That, added to the stress…" She swallowed. "I'm so sorry."_

_It was a sadly well known fact that Sherlock didn't do well in emotional situations. At that very moment his heart was pounding and breaking in his chest, the ache clouding his usually sharp head. Not a very promising combination. It took four hours before he entered John's room._

_John looked impossibly small, sitting all alone on his hospital bed, legs brought tightly to his chest. Despite how dark the room was it was easy to notice just how pale the doctor was. His jaw was stone hard with tightly repressed emotions._

_Sherlock couldn't bring himself to move or speak out. It took John a full minute to notice him. There was a look of sheer agony in the Omega's eyes. "Sherlock, I… I'm sorry."  
At those words Sherlock was moving, before he even knew what the hell he was going to do. Nothing in his mind or body was quite steady when Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and held on with the sheer power of despair. "Moriarty's fault. Not yours." A new good reason to hunt down that bastard and tear him to pieces with his own bare hands._

_John's body quivered in his hold and for a moment he was sure that he heard sobs. It took ages before the doctor managed to speak. "It's… They say that… that they'll need to, uh… finish it. since… Well, it's already five months…" The doctor swallowed hard. "I'll need to be operated on."_

_Sherlock's hold on John tightened and he gritted his teeth so hard that it hurt to keep the rest of the agony under control. Soon they'd come and take John away to make sure that their dead child was out of John. Soon there'd be nothing left of their child._

_Nothing more was said, for there were no words for such a situation._

_John needed to be put under for the staff to finish what nature had failed to complete. Sherlock didn't stop pacing for even a second while his mate was gone. His thoughts stormed on dark, dangerous paths._

_He'd failed John and their unborn child. The first miscarriage was simply a tragedy. This time he'd failed. What kind of a Alpha did that make him?_

_It took John longer than it should've to wake up. As soon as the doctor was even partly conscious a pale hand shifted frantically to a stomach where a careful eye could see the slightest of swells. Only to find no life in there. A wail of sheer, utter agony escaped from the Omega._

_Sherlock swallowed, unsure what to say. Surely he couldn't say that it was all over – John knew that already. And he definitely couldn't tell that they would've had a baby girl, that he got to hold her and she fit easily to just one of his hands. That this time they had a daughter to bury. "It's… It'll be okay, John", he murmured instead. Hating the way he couldn't bring himself to touch his mate. "They swore to me that you'll be okay. That when you've healed we can try again."_

_John shook his head. The man's eyes appeared suspiciously moist while they stared at nothing in particular. "No, Sherlock." It was barely audible. "I… I don't want to be pregnant ever again. I can _never_ go through this again." With those words barely past his lips the Omega slipped back under, succumbing under heavy medication._

_It took three days before Sherlock managed to fall asleep. When he did he dreamt of their daughter, of all the things she could've been. Of what she might've looked like, possibly with his hair and John's eyes. Two more days later John was finally discharged. That night neither slept as they lay in their bed side by side, all too aware of what they'd lost._ /

* * *

John knew that something was wrong the moment he walked into the crime scene. Sherlock was always aloof and distant while focusing intently on the case at hand. But the sudden distance he could just feel between them, and especially those venom filled looks darted Greg's way… All of a sudden he knew. And the realization made him feel even colder than the rapidly cooling corpse of a man who looked chillingly lot like him.

The cab drive home was silent, as was their stiff journey up the stairs. In the flat they found a note from Mrs. Hudson that announced she'd taken Spencer to a park. John was glad. There was clearly a long, tedious conversation ahead of them and he was beginning to feel that he didn't want their son there to witness it.

Sherlock was the one who spoke first, obviously not intending to try and suppress the urge any longer. "So you chose Lestrade, out of all people?"

John shivered at the cool, biting tone. His eyes turned into steel, rage beginning to boil over while much too familiar ache began to resurface. "I hardly _chose_. And neither did he. I'm not proud that I drank myself to oblivion but that's what happened." He grabbed a nearby table for support, so hard that his knuckles turned white. There was a whirlwind of pain, anger and guilt burning in his veins and he had no idea if the flood came from his human or Omega side. Perhaps both. "Do you honestly think that I had a bloody clue of what I was doing back then? You… You were _gone_, Sherlock! For years! I… I watched you die with my own two eyes! You _left_ me!"

Sherlock shivered. Lava appeared into the detective's eyes. "You know fucking well why I had to do it!" the man snarled, taking a step closer and invading John's private space. "I fought for years, John, not knowing if I'd ever get to come back again! _FOR YOU_! And you couldn't even keep your pants up!"

John knew, rationally, that it was a hurt Alpha – not Sherlock – talking. But those words… They stung like acid while washing through, seeping deep into the core of his heart and soul. Joining that annoying voice in the back of his head that'd been whispering those quite same words for a very long time. The impact made him feel sick to his stomach. His eyes narrowed even further and his whole body began to shake. "Get… the fuck out!" he snarled through tightly gritted teeth. "Right now!"

Sherlock's eyebrow bounced up. "Why? So you can call Lestrade over?"

John was dangerously close to losing control over himself altogether. This… This was just too much. He began to march on although his legs barely carried his weight. "Fine. Fine. Then _I'll_ get the hell out of here."

Sherlock's hand grabbed his wrist, so tightly that it was a miracle nothing was fractured. Without a doubt bruising would form. It squeezed, and squeezed, with absolutely all the force the detective could find. "You're _not_ going anywhere!"

John hissed against himself, struggling to break himself free from the crushing hold. "Goddamnit, you're hurting me!" he half growled, half yelped in the end. Tears were loud and clear in his voice but he didn't care.

Something about his tone of voice seemed to snap Sherlock out of whatever stupor the man had fallen into. The hand let go, leaving John's skin aching and bruised. There was a wild and dangerous, unreadable look in those eyes. "You were supposed to be my mate." It sounded wounded, perhaps even broken.

John bit his teeth together once more, bringing a gentle hand to throbbing flesh. "Get the hell out of here, Sherlock. Before I'm _nothing_ to you."

Sherlock's nose wrinkled. They both felt that a line was going to be crossed seconds before the words came out. "Who said that I'd accept used goods, anyway?"

John froze at those words altogether, body and soul. He didn't see Sherlock leave. Couldn't even hear the flat's door being slammed closed.

Absolutely all strength draining from him he slid to the floor, a trembling hand placed to his abdomen where he couldn't quite feel the new beginning of life just yet. Where his child was – his and Sherlock's. His mouth opened but he couldn't produce a sound. Only one thought fit into his head that was beginning to hurt.

This was too much.

* * *

Spencer had had a very exciting day in a park with Mrs. Hudson. She was a smart lady who knew a lot about many things. She tolerated his countless expeditions after different insects and other fascinating things far better than aunt Harry. And most importantly, on their way home she agreed that they could buy just a little bit chocolate.

"Mrs. Hudson?" He waited until she looked towards him before he went on. "Can we buy some for daddy and pa, too?"

Mrs. Hudson appeared surprised for a second, then nodded. "Of course we can, dear. I'm sure that they'd be delighted." She reached out and took two more bars of milk chocolate.

Spencer shook his head. "No!" he insisted. "Pa likes dark chocolate."

(He was too young to see the warm, small smile on Mrs. Hudson's face.)

They were almost home when they saw Sherlock emerge from the block of flats. Spencer grinned radiantly and began to wave. "Pa! Pa! We're here!" The man didn't seem to hear. Instead Sherlock kept walking away with hasty, brisk steps, his back turned sharply towards them. And disappeared.

Spencer pressed his lips together tightly and hugged the teddy bear he'd insisted on bringing along tighter to his chest. Yes, he was only a little boy who didn't really understand the complicated world of adults. But even he understood that something was very wrong.

He shivered and pressed himself closer to Mrs. Hudson's warmth, desperate to feel even a small hint of comfort.

That night Spencer had nightmares where he was running in a huge, extremely dark forest all alone. He woke up screaming, tears running down his cheeks. And no matter how desperately he called out to both of his parents only one of them came.

(It was fortunate that he didn't see John's tears.)

* * *

Days passed by. Perhaps even weeks. Spencer wasn't entirely sure – keeping track on the passing of time had never been his strong point. But he knew that his pa still wasn't home yet. He knew that he missed pa. And so did daddy. That's why he did what he did the last time his pa was away a few weeks ealier on what the man called a 'case'. The same thing he'd been doing almost every day during this second absence.

Sure that his daddy was preoccupied by a adult conversation with uncle Greg he took his daddy's cell phone, knowing exactly where to find it. Making a call wasn't difficult at all. Finding the right number was a bit more tricky. A frown of concentration on his face Spencer looked for letters 'Sh' from the contact list. Once there was an occasion where he, still practising, called Sarah by accident. He didn't want to repeat that mistake.

His pa's familiar baritone answered almost instantly. "_Spencer? Is...__ everything alright?_"

Perhaps it was that voice. The one he heard for the first time when he was already three years old. A voice he so very badly wanted to trust. Spencer sobbed once, stubbornly wiping away the single tear that rolled. "Daddy and I… I think we're leaving, pa."

There was a prolonged pause. "_Leaving where, Spencer?_"

Spencer shrugged, feeling helpless. He didn't understand this, any of this. In fact this all terrified him, beyond all belief. His pa was away, on a case and he had no idea if the man would ever return. His daddy was often sick and so obviously in pain that even the child could see it. To Spencer it made sense. Their family was torn apart – of course they were all hurting, then. He just wanted his family together again. He wanted them all to be happy again. "Daddy… He says that we'll have a va…ic… vacation. That we need to go away, for a little bit." He sniffled, wrapping one arm around himself in a feeble attempt to find even a hint of comfort. "Please, pa…! Come back."

The silence was so deep and long that that it scared Spencer. Some tears welled into his eyes. "Pa!" he screamed, as loudly as he dared to.

"_I'm here, Spencer_", his pa's voice promised. It sounded deeper, somehow. Sadder. Had Spencer said the wrong thing, after all? "_I'm here._"

Spencer felt marginally relieved for a brief moment. Just then he began to catch the sounds of his daddy and uncle Greg's talk ending. Time was running out. "I love you, pa. I miss you", he whispered. He hung up before he had the time to hear if the adult replied.

By the time John peered into Spencer's room the child was busy with a massive puzzle, humming softly while putting it together. He also saw the signs of tears, noticed that those eyes looked all too much like his. And made up his mind.

* * *

Sherlock wouldn't respond to John's texts or e-mails. In the end the omega decided that enough was enough. He was done waiting. He was done rolling around in ache, 'what ifs' and 'should'ves'. He was done trying to come up with excuses for Spencer. He was done with hurting all the time. Leaving, even if only for two weeks to spend some time in a cabin Greg's friend owned, was taking a coward's way out but that was what he'd have to do before the stress would eat him up alive. If he hadn't lost count of days at some point he was eight weeks pregnant on the day he stood outside his block of flats, sealed into Mrs. Hudson's firm and tear filled embrace.

"Oh, goodness me…! I truly hope that you'll come back one day. London won't be the same without you."

John frowned. His heart skipped a beat. "We'll only be gone for two weeks", he pointed out.

Mrs. Hudson gave him a pointed look. "Don't lie to a old lady, John", she scolded.

John knew that his smile didn't reach his eyes when they broke the hug. He glanced towards where Spencer was sleeping in a car. "This… is something we have to do."

Mrs. Hudson nodded, very solemn all of a sudden. "I understand, dear." She patted his stomach gently, as though trying to feel. Trust her to know although it'd take a while before he'd start to show. "Take a good care of you all, you hear?"

John nodded resolutely. Gosh, he'd do absolutely everything there was in his power to do just that. Especially since it looked like he was the only one these children would have. "You take care of yourself, too." Then, as an afterthought, he added. "And thank you, for everything."

All she managed in return was a nod.

John was glad that Spencer didn't wake up when he slid into the car and closed the door, then started the vehicle. It took some deep, shuddering breaths to push back the searing sensation that'd taken over his eyes. A bitter taste in his mouth and his wounded heart somehow managing to race furiously he began to drive towards the distant unknown.

* * *

Sherlock wasn't sure how many nights he'd spent awake, staring at the godawful, mustard colored ceiling of Mycroft's guest room. Too scared of nightmares to even close his eyes. In too much pain to let his muscles relax for even a second. Or perhaps it was the guilt keeping him awake.

His eyes narrowed and he balled his fists, nails digging painfully into skin.

John's fault, all of it. John betrayed him and their bond. Made all his nightmares of being forgotten and cast aside real. Replaced him. So why was he the one in all this pain?

With all his senses on overdrive he caught easily how his brother let someone in. He growled long before there was a knock. "Tell Molly that I have no intention of talking to her. Just like I haven't had thus far."

"You don't need to speak. In fact, I might even prefer it if you didn't. But oh, trust me, you _will _listen."

That voice wasn't Molly's or Mycroft's. Sherlock's eyes narrowed and such rage he couldn't remember experiencing ever before rolled through the detective. "Give me even one good reason not to beat you up right now", he growled.

Greg sighed. "How, exactly, would that help your case?" Finally turning his head enough to see he found the DI's wrinkled nose. "Christ, Sherlock, you _smell_! When's the last time you took a shower? Or left this room, for the matter?" The man's eyes weren't pleased as they explored the collection of empty packages of cigarettes. "Does Mycroft know that you smoke inside his guest room?"

Sherlock felt a stab of irritation. He looked away from the DI pointedly. "If he doesn't he's even more of an idiot than I've given him credit for. Now be gone. Whatever John sent you here to say I don't want to hear it."

"John didn't send me. He's too damn busy trying to take care of your son all by himself." There was ice in Greg's voice, such that caught Sherlock's attention against his will. The man didn't give him the time to collect himself for a comeback. "This is the second time you've broken his heart, you know?"

Sherlock snorted. It came out far more moist than he would've liked. "He's only got himself to blame for this one", he pointed out.

Even the mighty Sherlock Holmes couldn't see Greg's response coming. Not until the man had already moved. Not until a stunningly firm right hook had been aimed at his face.

Greg held onto the hand that'd delivered the impact, eyes flaming with rage. "You bloody idiot…! You bloody, goddamn _moron_!" His lips opened but he was nowhere near fast enough to halt the DI. "He waited for you for _two years_! For two years he spent every damn day waiting for you to come back! He never said it out loud but I know. When he finally stopped, gave up hoping, something just… disappeared. And that night he was with me… It was your name he whispered, when we were done." Greg gritted his teeth, visibly struggling with himself not to attack again. "He loves you so much that it almost killed him. Did you know that? He needed to escape that pain for one fucking night, for the sake of his sanity. He made one mistake under impossible circumstances and for that you're abandoning your whole family? Abandoning him? After everything you've been through?" The man shook his head. "You can deduce anyone else in a heartbeat yet you fail to see things clearly with the one who matters the most to you. I'm almost sure that you haven't even figured out that he's pregnant again."

Those words hit Sherlock like a pile of bricks. His eyes widened a fraction while his brain attempted to make sense to what he'd just heard. Tried to grasp on the impossible truth. He was already moving long before it really sunk in.

"Sherlock, you can't just…!"

Sherlock couldn't even hear. Not when it was the last thing he said to John before storming out echoing in his ears, taunting him. Not when the guilt and terror were squeezing the heart he wasn't supposed to have so tightly that it could barely keep beating.

John was out there, with their son _and_ pregnant with another child. _Their _child. Thinking that he'd abandoned them all over again. That he'd never come back. That he'd actually meant those hideous words. That everything was over between them.

Sherlock grabbed the keys of Mycroft's car and sped through the door, barely remembering to take his coat on his way out.

If he'd lose John, his whole family… Everything he once fought so bitterly for… He didn't know what he'd do.

* * *

Two hours, eight minutes and twenty seconds later a forgotten cell phone began to ring for the fiftieth time. The call was directed to a voicemail. There was no mistaking the urgency in that voice. Something was badly wrong.

"_Where the bloody hell are you? Never mind, never mind. Look, there's… There's been an accident and…_" There was a prolonged pause, during which unidentifiable sounds could be heard. "_Just… Just get to St. Bart's as fast as you can, alright?_"

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Things… are a bit of no good right now, I'd say. In fact, quite a bit of no good. I wonder what this accident is all about…? (gulps)

PLEASE, do drop a line or two before you go! Hearing from you would seriously make me beyond happy. Pwease…? (gives puppy's eyes)

IN THE NEXT ONE: While one member of the family fights for their life a realization dawns. Is it too late? Emotions run high while two terrified souls wait for fickle fate to make up its mind.

How does a Saturday update sound…?

Until next time! I really hope that you'll all show up for that one.

Take care!


	12. Signal Fire

A/N: Surprise! (grins) The new chapter was ready and my changed schedule indicates that I wouldn't have been able to update on Saturday or Friday so I didn't see any reason to make you wait. See, I CAN be nice when I choose to? (Don't get used to it, though.) (smirks)

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for all those reviews and listing! Just take a look at how much love this story's received. (BEAMS, and hugs) You can't even imagine how happy you've made me. So thank you!

Awkay, because after that develish cliffie you're probably itching to move on with the story, let's go. I really hope that this one turns out worth you expectations!

* * *

Signal Fire

* * *

/ _John made it perfectly clear from the start that he didn't want to see his daughter before she was buried. He wanted to keep the mental images he had of her rather than the real memories of her lifeless corpse. Her funeral was a small affair, only attended by the grieving parents, Mrs. Hudson, Sarah, Greg and Mycroft._

_'_Angelika Diana Watson-Holmes_', was engraved to her tiny tombstone._

_Afterwards, when they finally got home after the far too long ceremony, John made his way wordlessly to a couch and lay there. Not closing his eyes, not curling up. He just lay there, staring at the ceiling._

_Who knows how long he remained there, nothing short of a breathing corpse. Days, perhaps. It felt like years. In the end Sherlock made his way there as well, a distraught look on his grief marred face. "Scoot over", the detective commanded. John didn't have it in him to deny his Alpha._

_Hours must've passed until John finally found his voice. Squeezed out what had been building up since that fateful day in the hospital. __"I… I'm so sorry", he rasped, not wanting to look towards Sherlock. To see the pain and disappointment. "I'm sorry that I can't give you a child."_

_Sherlock's reassuring hand grabbed his. "Do shut up. As long as I have you I need nothing else."_

_For the first time in days John smiled, kissing his mate's fingers. "Don't worry, then. You'll never lose me."_ /

* * *

Steps thundered in the hallways of St. Barts while a lone figure made his way through, rushing on faster than he ever had in his entire life. The few people on his path stepped away instantly, several members of staff seemed eager to call for security. He didn't care. His head only had room for one thought that was oddly close to a prayer.

_PLEASE…!_

By the time he barged into the waiting room Mycroft and Greg were already there, both of them pacing with restless looks on their stony faces. Seeing the look on his face Mycroft stepped forward. "You need to calm down…"

"The hell with calm!" His eyes were burning with such rage and terror he'd never, ever felt before in his life. "Where the hell is he? Where's my family?"

Mycroft was either brave or foolish enough to lay a hand on his shoulder. To actually look into his eyes. "Sherlock, listen to me. Alright? Or I'll have to call someone over to sedate you." The man refused to go on until some of the fire in his eyes died. "John… He was about to take a vacation with Spencer but never made it out of London until another car hit his. It drove against a red light and the driver was under influence. It hit John's side."

Sherlock's blood, his whole body, burned with sheer wrath and bloodthirst. He couldn't bring himself to utter a sound, though, no matter how much he would've wanted to. Mycroft wasn't done yet and he hadn't heard those words he so very desperately needed.

Judging by his brother's expression he wasn't going to hear them at all. "John managed to shield Spencer from almost all of the impact. Spencer needed some stitches and he'll get a couple of scars to show his friends but he'll be fine." Before relief had the time to seep in the man went on. "As for John… They didn't say how badly he was injured, but… It looked bad."

Sherlock sunk down, by some miracle landing on a chair instead of the floor. It felt like someone had knocked all air from his lungs. His head was spinning, not really managing to grasp on what was happening. "The baby…?"

Mycroft stared at him with something close to surprise, grief and pity. Greg gulped before half whispering. "We don't know."

Sherlock was determined not to cry in front those two men. To not show suck weakness. He was shaking so badly that he almost fell from the chair. Inside his chest his heart was breaking.

If he'd lose John now, _those_ words being the last ones he'd ever spoken to the doctor…

Fortunately that terrifying trail of thought was cut when all of a sudden Spencer burst into the room, escorted by a nurse. There was a look of sheer terror on the child's pale, bruised face. "Pa, where's daddy?"

Sherlock's trembling got even worse at the wrenching look on his son's innocent face. Not knowing what else to do he opened his arms. Despite all the times he'd abandoned Spencer the boy rushed to his embrace without hesitation. Such blind trust sent a jolt of pain through Sherlock. He wondered if John realized that their son had inherited the doctor's heart.

"Where's daddy?" Spencer repeated in a whisper.

Sherlock gritted his teeth, tightening his hold on the boy. "He's… The doctors are still working with him. We have to wait." Even the word made him feel sick.

Of course it wasn't okay with Spencer, either. The child began to trash against his hold, desperate to go and find his parent. Tears were running down the boy's cheeks. "I want to see daddy now!"

Sherlock sighed. "I know." It was getting increasingly hard to hold back the struggling three-year-old. "I know." His voice was tense and tight as patience began to run out. "But we can't see him now."

In his arms Spencer kept trashing and crying heartbrokenly. "Pa, let me go! Let go! I… I want daddy! Let me go to daddy!"

Oh, how very desperately Sherlock wanted John, too. His lips opened but no words of comfort willed their way through. Instead he held on to his hysterical son, his whole body trembling pitiably.

Mercifully Spencer fell asleep at some point, exhausted by the fighting and too much adrenaline. Greg pried the boy from Sherlock's arms, muttering something about taking the child home to sleep. For just that once Sherlock didn't manage to feel jealousy or anger.

It took hours before a young female doctor with messily tied, blond hair and sad brown eyes appeared. Sherlock's heart already plummeted before she offered a tiny smile. The hope was, however, frail at best.

Sherlock's head deleted most of what she said. He only caught something about broken bones and internal damage. Something about how John had been found bent to such a position that the doctor had been protecting his son. And he most certainly caught the part where she said that although they were nowhere near out of the woods yet John was still alive.

Sherlock dreaded finding the answers but asked about the unborn baby, anyway. The doctor's smile faded in an instant. "There's… been some bleeding, and cramps. On arrival John was showing some signs of a oncoming miscarriage, which was no surprise considering the trauma and stress. We've given him some medication to halt the process, but… Only time will tell."

It was highly likely only out of Mycroft's influence Sherlock was allowed into John's room while the doctor was still in such a delicate condition. His whole body jolted at the sight of his mate laying in that horrific bed, hooked on several machines, bruised and bandaged all over. Terrifyingly still. Only the monitor's steady beeping proved to him that the Omega was alive at all. The second, much faster beeping whispered that their baby was still fighting, too.

Feeling far too much to process even half of it Sherlock walked over with uncharacteristically slow, hesitant steps. For several minutes he simply stared, a part of him refusing to believe. Then, quickly yet mindful of all the tubes, he took John's hand and squeezed as tightly as he dared to. Without him noticing one of his fingers slipped to the doctor's pulse point.

That long, pitch black night Sherlock prayed for the first time in his life.

* * *

During the following four days Sherlock barely left John's side. He sat or paced there, listening to the infuriating yet comforting beeping of the machines. Each and every beep proving that his mate and child had managed to beat a yet another moment ticking against them. He had no idea how it was possible with all the stress and tension but he fell asleep. Perhaps his transport simply failed him. But he did know that he woke up to a sensation of movement.

Instantly alerted his eyes flew open and darted downwards, towards John. It took a long moment before he managed to convince himself that he wasn't seeing things. When the reality sunk in his heart began to beat so fast that it almost burst.

Those eyes were wide open, looking back at him.

Sherlock's head whirred on overdrive while his mouth opened, then closed before opening again. A million words wanted to crawl out but he couldn't quite vocalize any of them. His whole body was on the verge of shutting down under the unfamiliar floods.

Luckily he was granted some more time. For just then John seemed to regain enough coherence to remember bits and pieces of what'd happened. A look of sheer terror appeared to the doctor's face while frantic, protective eyes darted around the room and a gentle hand was placed firmly against the Omega's stomach.

It took Sherlock embarrassingly long to regain his ability to function. "It's… It's okay", he managed. His tone was hoarse and barely audible but he didn't give a damn. "Spencer… He got some scratches and bruises but he's fine. The doctor… She said that you protected him. That it's thanks to you he's…" He swallowed, determined not to fall apart completely. His eyes strayed towards John's abdomen. "The baby… was almost lost, with all your injuries. But… They were able to halt it. The baby's still right there, alive."

John's eyes went misty for a few moments but the doctor gathered himself with some determined blinks. Those eyes turned towards him and darkened all of a sudden. John's mouth opened but all that came out was a wheeze.

"Don't… Don't try that yet, okay?" Sherlock licked his lips and looked away for a moment. "They had to intubate you. So… Your throat is going to be be sore for a while."

John nodded slowly and seemed to sink into his thoughts for a while. The silence stretched, grew heavy. John focused on him once more. In a few short moments those eyes spoke far more than any words ever could've.

Sherlock had no idea of what to say. Where to start fixing all the damage he'd inflicted on their bond. Hell, if there was still anything left to salvage. He didn't say that he hadn't meant those words, not even one of them. If John didn't know that already then there was no hope left for them. He knew that there was no use in swearing that he'd never leave again – there was no way he'd be able to make John believe in those words, not when he'd already betrayed his word. In the end he settled for the simplest and most honest option. "I… I'm so sorry." He was all too aware that those words were nowhere near enough. But maybe, somehow…

John looked at him for the longest time, obviously deep in thought. Eventually the doctor's hand moved and Sherlock found himself waiting for the verdict with a baited breath. In the end a soft, tender hand was placed on top of his. It didn't quite hold on, didn't have the strength to, but it was there.

Taking the chance, hanging on to it like a drowning man holding on to a rope, he curled his fingers around John's hand. It was warm and inviting, so unlike his own cool one. Sherlock didn't know if he'd ever find the will to let go of it.

And so they remained, two wounded soldiers. Each with one finger on the other's pulse point, desperately needing the proof that the other was there. Both wondering how in the world they'd move on from all this mess.

When Sherlock could be sure that John had fallen asleep once more he allowed his hand to move, careful to keep it so light that he wouldn't disturb the doctor. He laid it on the still flat stomach, trying with all his might to imagine the life inside. Their precious child they'd come so very close to losing. And at that moment Sherlock came to a very important decision.

It was time to grow up.

If John would still by some miracle have him, if his Omega would actually give him the third chance he didn't deserve, he'd never walk away again.

He had three reasons to stay.

* * *

The next few days were still horrific. Although John was finally awake the danger was by no means over. For their baby, at very least. On the second night after waking up John woke up bleeding. For the upcoming five hours the doctor was scared to death that he'd end up losing a yet another child. Sherlock was scared to death that he'd end up losing both his mate and their unborn child.

This time modern science showed its ability to create miracles, though. Exactly six hours and eighteen minutes after the chaos began the parents watched and listened with wonder how their child moved on a small screen. At the same time a determined heartbeat echoed in the small room, even more clearly and powerfully than with the machine that'd been used earlier. Strong and unwavering. Definitely the heart of a soldier. With how wide dangerously pale Sherlock's eyes were and how badly the man was shivering John feared that the man might pass out.

John was just about to drift off into sleep, all the stress proving to be too much for his still recovering body. But then he heard something that pulled him firmly back to awareness. Something he couldn't remember hearing ever before.

With a frown he looked to his right, to discover that Sherlock had slumped into the far corner of the room with his face buried in both hands. The detective's whole body was shuddering with desperate attempts to hold back the storm and a overwhelming overload of emotions. The Alpha, who'd once claimed that he didn't have a heart… was sobbing.

John blinked twice, unsure what to feel. How to react. "Sherlock…?"

The detective didn't react, probably didn't even hear him. John made his decision. He shifted, biting back a wince when pain pulsed through him, so that he was able to make some room in the hospital bed. "Come here", he murmured in a soft, gentle tone.

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice. Surreally gently and uncharacteristically slowly the detective climbed into the bed, snuggled as close to him as humanly possible. Neither side of John protested when the man sniffed him, the Alpha most likely wanting to make sure that he was actually there. That the nightmare was over.

Coming to a conclusion that Sherlock needed further prove John took the man's hand and guided it to his stomach. He met his mate's eyes and held them. "See? Our little one is still there, Sherlock. Alive. I'm still alive." He couldn't say that everything was alright because it'd take a long time before things were anywhere near that point. But he needed Sherlock to know that he was really there, that as long as it was up to him he wasn't going anywhere.

Sherlock didn't give any response at first. Then, stunning them both, the detective placed a tiny kiss to his forehead before resting his head against John's shoulder. And there, with his Omega by his side and their unborn child under his hand, the Alpha was able to fall asleep for the first time in several days.

John smiled. If there'd once been doubt in his mind now he knew. Finally succumbing to the overwhelming exhaustion he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Soon he followed Sherlock to the land of dreams, their breaths and hearts in perfect sync.

When morning came they were both still there, side by side, their hands joined on John's belly.

* * *

When John finally woke up he wondered if he was still dreaming. He might've been convinced that he was if it wasn't for the pain surging absolutely everywhere in his body. Despite the physical discomfort a smile appeared to his face.

Sherlock was also awake beside him but the detective wasn't alone. At some point Spencer had climbed into the bed and was now nestled quite comfortably between the two of them. There was contented look on the child's face while he slept, one small hand clutching each parent's shirt. Absolutely adorable, quiet sleeping sounds drifted from the boy.

"I tried to tell him that you're still sore", Sherlock whispered, the man's eyes never leaving their son. Drinking in as though one long glance might've soothed the ache caused by all the lost time. "He wouldn't have any of that. He just told me that he'd be extra careful."

John couldn't keep a smile from his face. Warmth spread all the way through him when he stroked the boy's hair gently and the child leaned closer to the touch, clearly having missed it. "He's your son. What did you expect?"

He couldn't really tell but he was almost sure that Sherlock smiled right there. For a few moments of bliss they just lay in silence, basking in the knowledge that their whole family was together. It felt incredibly good.

John could feel, though, that there was something on Sherlock's mind. And sure enough, soon the detective spoke. "Look, John… I've been thinking."

John chuckled. "Like you'd ever stop thinking."

Sherlock gave him a somewhat childish look, then went on. "As I was saying… You're going to need… help. I mean, when you're discharged from the hospital. Especially with Spencer around. I've discovered that he's… quite a handful."

John twitched, feeling a hint of discomfort. He swallowed although his mouth went dry. "What… are you proposing, then?" Of course he knew but he needed to buy himself a few moments. To figure out how, exactly, he felt about any of this.

Sherlock's hold on his hand was firm yet tender. Almost pleading. "Let me show you that I can be the Alpha you need me to be. For you and our children."

John looked pointedly towards Spencer because he wasn't sure if he would've been able to maintain his resolve if he'd met Sherlock's eyes. "You… You've already left us twice, Sherlock. I don't know…" He trailed off.

"I missed out on everything when you were pregnant with Spencer. And… I almost lost all three of you." Sherlock's voice was thick with genuine emotion. "I don't… I can't lose any of you, ever. I need to be there, now."

John's mouth opened although he had no idea of what to say. And fortunately he didn't have to figure out just yet. For Spencer stirred, then yawned before opening his eyes. The boy's face lit up when the child found him awake. "Daddy!" It took all John had not to whimper from pain when the child moved, squeezed himself close. "You slept too long!"

John sighed, hugging his son the best as he could. "I know, Spence. I'm sorry." In a desperate need of something else to focus on before he'd lose control over himself (_Damn meds…!_) he allowed his eyes to stray towards the book that lay near Spencer. "Now what's that?"

Spencer smiled, his amazingly familiar eyes shining. The child was clearly very proud of himself. "Pa taught me reading while you were asleep."

John found himself smiling as well. He patted his son's hair, trying to stiffle a yawn. "He did, huh? Why don't you show me how much you've learned, then?"

No further encouragement was needed. Slowly and with a lot of difficulties but full of determination their amazing three-year-old began to read. Feeling calmer, safer and happier than he ever had since before Sherlock's fall John inhaled a deep breath, leaning subconsciously closer to his mate. Sherlock's hold of him tightened, became protective.

They'd come so very close to death, all of them. Yet there they were. On some sort of a borrowed time, battered and torn but together. Still fighting.

Perhaps there was still hope, after all.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Awww, they're both trying so hard. We'll see just what happens next. Will John let Sherlock back into the flat once more? And how will the pregnancy develop?

PLEASE, leave a note to let me know your thoughts! (gives puppy's eyes)

IN THE NEXT ONE: The whole family is still struggling to get used to being together. The expecting parents soon discover that their time for adjustment may grow short, after all, when new complications arise. Next one up, 'The Angels Among Us'.

ONLY FOUR MORE TO GO! (sobs)

Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll all stop by then.

Take care!

* * *

**Guest**: Oh, how happy I am to hear that you've been so pleased with the story thus far! (beams) I really hope that the next one(s) won't disappoint, either.

Hmm… We'll see if you're right. You've got a solid deduction there, though. (grins)

Huge thank yous for the review!


	13. The Angels Among Us

A/N: Phew! It's been super hectic but in the end I did manage to stick to my five day cycle. (beams) Yay?

First off, though, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your reviews, listings and support! (HUGS) You can't even imagine how much they mean to me. So thank you!

Awkay… (gulps) Since there's no stalling any further, let's go. I really hope that you'll enjoy this new bit!

* * *

The Angels Among Us

* * *

/ _After the first official, chilling and tragic meeting with Jim Moriarty Sherlock knew that one day their sickening game would have even more dramatic consequences. The man was playing with him. He was determined to make the son of a bitch pay for almost killing John and causing the death of their daughter. There was no telling how it would all come down. That's why he decided to turn to the only one he found trustworthy enough._

_Carefully making sure that John was deep enough in a for once nightmare free slumber Sherlock crept silently out the bed, then put on his clothes and headed outside. The air that embraced him was surprisingly warm. Whispered a promise of summer. He took a deep breath and decided that tonight was a good one for walking._

_Sherlock felt a twinge of ache once he completed his journey. Angelika's grave was well kept, as it should be with how often he found himself visiting. Sentimentality he would've considered foolish under different circumstances. Kneeling down slowly he brushed off some leaves that'd fallen right before the tombstone, his hand atypically gentle. That same hand should've been allowed to take care of the child. Instead it'd carried her coffin._

_"Things… are quite complicated right now." No greetings, no silly petnames. They just didn't feel like him – or Angelika. "Moriarty… He's still out there. I can feel him, like his eyes would be fixed on me at all times. He's there, waiting, planning." He gritted his teeth, unable to keep unpleasant memories from rising. "He… already stole you away. And… I can't let him take away anything more. I can't let him burn out any more of my heart, since it seems like I've still got one."_

_A breeze of chilly wind picked up, making him shiver. He could've sworn that he heard his name being whispered._

_Sherlock's eyes were misty but didn't sting when he finally managed to go on. "I… don't know how far I'll have to go to stop him. __So… __I need your help. I need you… you to look after your daddy. Understood? Look after him. Make sure that…" He trailed off and wiped his cheeks just as a unexpected rainshower began to fall. His throat felt oddly choked. "I… don't believe in angels. Or anything like that. But… I believe in you. So… Keep an eye on him for me. I'm trusting him into your hands, now."_

_The wind changed, became far more gentle. To Sherlock it felt like an agreement. With that thought as his soul comfort he caressed the stone and began to walk away once more, all too aware of the shadows following his footsteps. But somehow he didn't feel like he was facing them alone._ /

* * *

Two weeks later, once John's doctor had – with quite a bit of dismay – discharged him the Omega announced to somewhat confused Sherlock that he didn't want to go home just yet. That there was somewhere else he needed to visit first. And so, with Spencer having been taken home by Sarah, they headed towards the mysterious location.

It was easy to sense Sherlock's discomfort when they entered a cemetery. They both froze only steps from the gates, breathing heavily and shivering. The silence seemed to last a lifetime.

"What are we doing here?" Sherlock demanded in the end.

John sighed, half subconsciously rubbing his suddenly throbbing abdomen. The wind felt a lot colder than before. "I'm sure you know." He swallowed, trying to push down the emotions he'd once buried deep inside. "I know that you visit her sometimes. You always… smell different, afterwards." He bit his lower lip. "I just… I can't stop feeling like I've abandoned her, because I can't bring myself to come here. Maybe she thinks that I've forgotten her."

"You dream about her every night. And I did notice that you've tattooed her name to your lower back." There was a unreadable look on Sherlock's face. The man's hand twitched a millimetre closer to his, as though testing. "Wherever she is… She'd hardly think you've forgotten."

John swallowed thickly, some moisture momentarily visible in his eyes. "I suppose you're right." There was a pause. "She's your daughter, too, after all. Of course she'd know."

Oh, how badly they would've wanted to kiss right there. But the time wasn't right just yet. And so they began to walk on together instead, their hands almost close enough to touch. Together, just like the good old times.

Facing their daughter's grave was almost more than either one of them could bear. Seeing her name engraved on cold stone was even harder. John had visited too damn many graves of his beloved. He'd never get the chance to see his little girl again. To watch her grow. To love her even more than he already did.

His knees were dangerously wobbly when John leaned down for a moment, laying a rose on the grave. "I know that you don't believe in any of this stuff, but…" The doctor gulped, a foreign taste rising into his throat. "After the crash… I saw her. Sort of. I… saw what she would've looked like, if she'd had the chance to grow. And… God, Sherlock, she was so perfect!" He gritted his teeth, willing the wave of pain to pass. "She… told me to go back. Said that she's happy and alright, that I don't have to worry. She… saved me." He wiped his eyes. The pain didn't disappear but it became bearable. "She would've had your eyes."

Sherlock was quiet for so long that he had to look. The expression on the detective's face stunned him. He'd never, ever seen the younger man with his shields so completely down, so bare and open. "And your heart", the genius whispered in the end. "She would've had your heart."

They stood there in perfect silence. Grieving what had been lost. Wishing that there was a way to change things. Dreaming of how it all could've been, if only…

In the end it was Sherlock who spoke. "John… Thank you, for letting me come here with you."

John nodded, not looking towards his mate. It'd take a very long time before he'd be able to trust Sherlock again. It was highly likely that neither of them would recover from the emotional scar tissue they'd received during their time apart. But they were both trying, all too aware of how much was at stake. Perhaps that'd be enough.

John took a deep breath, his eyes lingering on their daughter's name for a moment before he focused on Sherlock once more. Smiling slightly through unspilled tears. "Let's go home."

* * *

At the age of forty-one Dr. Angela Towsend had been working with children almost since she became a psychiatrist. When Dr. John Watson – a man she dated for a brief moment only to be labelled as 'the one with the nose' – called her she almost hung up on him. As soon as he explained the reason he was calling her, after a far too long flood of apologies, she was glad that she chose to listen to him.

Spencer's second parent was all of a sudden back from the dead. Suddenly the boy had two parents in his life, a new person who was slowly yet surely becoming a constant presence in his home. And now there was a new baby on the way. It was no surprise that Spencer reacted to such shocks. There were intense temper tantrums. Night terrors. Out of the blue the boy who'd completed his potty training a long while ago was wetting himself all over again. None of those signs was overly worrying but John had decided not to take any chances. The man wasn't about to let the whole turmoil damage his son.

Spencer was confused and upset, that was only understandable. But Angela found it quite hard to believe that the child before her would've been damaged in any way. In fact he seemed to be having a rather good time while attempting to crack open the mystery box she'd given him at the beginning of their current session.

"So…", she began lenghtily. "I heard that your pa is moving in with you and your daddy. How do you feel about it?"

Spencer shrugged a little tentatively, clearly not entirely sure of the matter. Then bit his lip, obviously deep in thought. His whole body language screamed that this was a topic he wasn't ready to talk about just yet.

Choosing to respect his unvoiced plea Angela decided to talk about something else instead. "What do you think about your pa, then? Now that you've spent time with him."

This seemed to be a marginally easier topic. Something in Spencer's eyes changed. "Pa… acts all funny. But it's okay. I act funny, too." Finally he took eye contact. "He talks alone a lot. And walks. And makes exper… expert… extra…"

One corner of Angela's mouth twitched. She leaned just a little bit closer to discover that the box was open to reveal a puzzle inside. His eyes were already scanning it through. "Experiments? Well, that must be exciting."

A new, guarded expression rose to Spencer's face. He even shrunk physically into himself. "I don't want to talk about pa anymore." A sudden flick of a wrist shattered the puzzle just before it would've been completed.

Angela frowned. She didn't like the idea of pushing but it felt like she was about to make a breakthrough. "Why is that?" She gave the child a couple of moments. "He loves you very much. He wouldn't be angry about anything you say here."

Oh, that definitely hit something. Spencer seemed to be close to tears. "He likes the new baby more", the child muttered.

And there it was. All of a sudden Angela saw it very clearly. "You're upset because he's staying for the new baby but he didn't stay for you." Seeing a tiny shiver in him she leaned closer. "Spencer… He left because it was the only way to protect you and your daddy. He left because he loves both of you so much that he was ready to do anything to keep you safe. I don't see how he could possibly love anyone more than that."

Spencer looked up. Met her eyes, looking for a lie. "Really?"

Angela nodded, meaning it from the bottom of her heart. All of a sudden it was impossible to hold back a smile. "Really. You mean the world to your pa – all three of you do. And he's really, really excited to be with you."

Spencer frowned. His fingers twitched. "He never says that."

Angela felt a twinge of ache. Good grief, this family had miles of recovery to do… "Well, that's because he's silly. Just like you said." She looked at the puzzle. "Can I help you with that?"

Spencer nodded, finally looking like a three-year-old instead of a thirty-year-old.

* * *

That evening intense nausea and a nasty bout of headache forced John to bed early, which left Sherlock and Spencer alone. The two of them had no idea of how to feel about the fact.

In the end Sherlock decided that since he was the adult of the two he'd have to be the one to make the first move. He found his son examining a test tube he'd left laying around a little bit too carelessly.

"Careful, now", he ordered, his voice a touch harder than he would've liked. "That thing isn't a toy, Spencer."

Spencer's eyes widened slightly and the boy almost dropped to tube with startle. The loud gulp carried all the way to where he stood before the child managed to speak. "I'm… sorry." The boy stared at him for a second, something the detective couldn't quite name in his eyes. "Will you… go away again?"

Sherlock blinked. Once, twice, thrice. Those words seeping right down to his core like acid. And did something so unlike himself that under different circumstances it might've been amusing. He knelt down and motioned for the child to come closer. "Come here, Spencer." His tone was oddly soft, even quiet. He beckoned further when the child didn't move a muscle, barely even dared to breathe. "Come here."

Finally, after what felt like a tiny eternity, Spencer actually took a step forward. Before either one of them was quite prepared for it the boy was in his arms, holding on with absolutely all the might the child managed to muster. "Don't go anymore, pa." It was whispered in such a heartbroken, adult like voice that it would've pained even the stoniest. Was that a sob? "Please."

Sherlock's jaw tightened until it hurt while he struggled to maintain a grasp over his emotions, struggled hard to keep up the shields he'd fought so very hard to build around himself. Nonetheless a shudder crossed him, leaving a crack. "I'll never, ever leave again, Spencer", he murmured, holding his trembling son close. "I swear."

Five minutes later John woke up to discover that the flat was far too quiet. With a frown on his face he defied a bout of dizziness and climbed out of the bed, staggering his way out of the room. What he found brought a small, slightly sad smile to his face.

Sherlock and Spencer were still in the living room, holding on to one another as though for dear life. He could tell that both fought to remain in control over themselves but they weren't exactly successful. The cracks were there, loud, clear and aching. But perhaps now the true healing could begin.

With a hidden smile on his face John imprinted the precious sight deep into his mind, then turned and retreated back into the bedroom, leaving the two alone.

* * *

When John was four months pregnant it became clear that the baby was a very, very active one. One night he lay right next to Sherlock in their bed, an inch from falling asleep, when a particularly persistent kick aimed at his ribs made him hiss. His hand flew to the assaulted spot.

Sherlock was instantly alerted. The detective's eyes were darker than usual when they darted towards him. "Is something wrong?"

A small smile made its way to John's lips when he shook his head. "No, no. Actually…" After thinking about it for a second he took his mate's hand and brought it gently to where the baby was squirming. "I'd rather like it, if you'd feel this." When he was pregnant with Spencer Sherlock's hand was the only one he longed caressing his slight swell, feeling the life they'd created. Now they finally had a second chance.

Sherlock appeared confused for a moment but then the baby clearly sensed his or her pa's touch. The first kick was tentative, testing. Sherlock's eyes widened a fraction and most likely without even noticing it the detective's hand pressed just a little bit harder. The attention clearly pleased the baby. The second kick was much more fierce and demanding, the third one even more so. When the touch didn't disappear the baby began to make what felt suspiciously lot like backflips, succeeding in making John nauseous. Despite feeling ill John chuckled. "You're driving the little one insane", he pointed out.

Sherlock didn't seem to hear. The man's eyes were fixed firmly on his only slightly swollen abdomen and the hand pressed there shook a little bit. "I… can't believe that I missed this once. All of this."

That remorse and grief… They were genuine, palpable. And no matter how badly it'd been wounded John's heart melted a little bit at the sight. He took a deep breath and lay his hand on Sherlock's. "You're back now", he whispered, as though afraid that he'd disturb someone. His eyes hardened the slightest bit. "But I swear, if you ever leave us again…"

Sherlock shook his head immediately. The hand moved from his stomach, instead a strong, protective arm pulled him closer. "I'll never leave you again", Sherlock – Alpha and human side combined – swore. The voice didn't carry a hint of hesitation. "I'm home, now."

Perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones. Or sheer insanity. But all of a sudden the entirety of John was responding. His lips brushed Sherlock's, softly and sweetly like he'd been tasting the other man for the very first time. Sherlock looked at him with surprise but didn't hesitate after his hand brushed the detective's most private spots. The Alpha's motions were soft and tender, very atypical but so sweet that they made the doctor tremble with delight. Clothes disappeared. They caressed each other's scars, desperately attempted to soothe the visible and invisible wounds. Soon enough the kisses and touches intensified and there was no stopping what was about to happen. Not that either one of them would've wanted to stop any of it.

This wasn't the Omega in him. This was _John_, who'd missed his partner so much that it still hurt. John, who wanted and needed to feel absolutely everything Sherlock had to give. Who was finally ready to let the other man in.

It was the first time since Sherlock's infamous fall the two of them made love. No heat or other things clouding their heads. And afterwards, as they lay in each other's arms almost asleep, they both felt a great deal more whole.

* * *

Always the scientist Sherlock found the life inside John deeply fascinating. The baby's movements, the growth, the sounds he got to hear during the doctor's appointments… He didn't know what he would've done if he'd been forced to miss them the second time around.

What he didn't like, however, was the toll the pregnancy was obviously taking on John. Dr. Morstan did warn them that the Omega's gender and age (at this John almost attacked the poor woman) brought numerous risk factors into equation. As if they would've needed to be told that – they'd already lost two children, had to survive burying one of them. But the dread swirling inside Sherlock felt different this time around. John's nausea didn't fade away like it was supposed to, considering that the pregnancy was about five months along already. The Omega was too tired. Far too often in pain.

John was able to talk him out of worrying too much until one surprisingly cool day. John asking Mrs. Hudson to take Spencer to a park was the first warning sign. The doctor _never_ asked anyone else to look after their son when the two of them were perfectly able to. The nagging worry turned into sheer terror when Sherlock came back from the world of experiments to find John from their bed, clearly in a great deal of pain.

Sherlock gritted his teeth, instantly dashing to his Omega's side, both the Alpha and human inside him determined to protect. "Where does it hurt?"

"My head. And stomach. The baby's been moving around like mad all morning." John gave him a surprisingly determined look, a sheen of cold sweat appearing. "I'm fine, Sherlock. So stop looking at me like that."

Like that would've eased Sherlock's mind at all. Trying to keep his expression even he thought furiously for a moment before finally speaking. "Sit up. I'm going to make sure that you take something for the pain."

Quite clearly John didn't appreciate the idea of consuming any medication in his delicate condition but didn't voice protests. Which alone was a terrifying sign. The doctor got up slowly, carefully, and did manage to sit up. But only for a moment. Sherlock was able to see the man blink sluggishly before a visible wave of dizziness took over and the doctor was slipping back down. He was barely fast enough to wrap his arms around the Omega before his mate would've been laying down once more. His heart hammering Sherlock pulled the smaller man closer, determined to feel the warmth and presence. After a moment of stun John held back.

Sherlock gulped thickly, not daring to loosen his hold on John even the slightest bit. "You're not fine." It wasn't a question.

John's breath shuddered while the Omega without a doubt went through the same onslaught of unpleasant feelings Sherlock did. In the end the doctor swallowed thickly, loudly. "It's… It's going to be okay."

If anything Sherlock's hold on his mate tightened still. He wasn't sure if it was his or John's body shaking. Possibly both of them. "Yeah, I know." If only he would've been able to believe that. "But let's get you to a hospital, anyway."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: They're working so very hard to make things work, now. Let's just hope that fate won't get in the way once again. (sighs) We're so close to the end, now…

PLEASE, leave a note to let me know your thoughts! Good? Trash material? Lukewarm? Awww, c'mon, you'd totally make my day with a couple of words. (gives puppy's eyes) Would cyber chocolate hearts make any difference…?

IN THE NEXT ONE: The little family keeps trying to struggle on. Pregnancy complications, however, make it difficult to calm down. What happens when the pregnancy comes to a dramatic halt?

Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll all stay tuned for that one.

Take care!


	14. One More Miracle

A/N: I'm actually surprised that I managed to update on time – my life's been insanely hectic lately and I've got a million things bouncing around in my head. (smirks sheepishly) Hooray?

As always, thank you so much for your reviews, love and support! It's thanks to you this story's progressed so fluently, you know? So THANK YOU! (HUGS)

Awkay… Because there's no stalling any further, let's get going. I really hope that you'll find this bit worth your while.

* * *

One More Miracle

* * *

/ _Sherlock liked to watch John sleep. It was a guilty pleasure the doctor was unaware of, of course. Sherlock spent hours and hours, guarding his mate's slumber. Caressing the man's hair or whispering sweet nothings whenever the nightmares came marching in. During those nights he had no need to hold up all those shields and armors he'd spent years and years on building. It was just him, John and the shadows._

_Sherlock did, however, know that those nights were numbered. They began to tick towards the inevitable finish – or pause, at very least – with the dramatic pool encounter. It was his last night with John before the infamous fall when Sherlock lay awake once more, watching how John slept peacefully. And there, right there, he caught the smell of change. The scent of a new life._

_Their precious baby. Right there, safe inside John. A new reason for him to keep fighting for his family._

_With only shadows as a witness Sherlock leaned closer, lay a careful hand on John's stomach and found himself whispering words that shouldn't have belonged into his mouth. "Soon… Soon I may end up doing something horrible. Something your daddy may find unforgivable. And… Before I do that, I need you to know something." He swallowed heavily. "I love you both, more than you'll ever know. I've never said it out loud but I need you to know. And as long as there's even a single breath of life in me I'll fight with every single fibre of my being to get back to you. I swear. I'll never, ever stop fighting for you. I need you to know that. And… I can only hope that your daddy knows it, too. That one day, when the time comes, he'll find the will to forgive me. That he won't stop believing in me. I hope that you'll forgive me, too."_

_He knew that it was illogical but he could've sworn that he felt a hint of something he couldn't explain. It eased some of the crushing weight sitting on his chest but only for a while. Because at that very moment his eyes strayed towards the clock sitting on their nightstand. Seconds kept slipping away mercilessly._ /

* * *

The hospital staff performed a lot of tests. Took blood and urine samples. Monitored John's blood pressure which, as expected, was quite high. Asked a whole bunch of questions that didn't seem to make any sense. Hassled around to a point where, judging by the Omega's expression, their baby got very agitated.

In the end Dr. Mary Morstan, who'd taken John's symptoms very seriously, made her way to him. There was a quite unnerving look on her face. "I'd tell you what's going on. But… I have a feeling that you know already."

Sherlock frowned and only John squeezing his hand kept him from revealing his fangs. _Bloody hell, this woman…!_ _He _didn't have the faintest clue of what was going on. It was _annoying_.

John, however, paled slightly and nodded slowly. Was the man trembling? "I had a feeling that it might be pre-eclampsia."

The frown on Shelock's face deepened. So now they had a name for it. "What are we going to do about it?" he demanded.

Dr. Morstan, being used to Alphas, wasn't startled. The look on her face wasn't exactly promising, though. "At this point there isn't very much we can do." Her eyes were fixed firmly on John. "I can prescribe some medication for your blood pressure. You need to rest and avoid stress. I'd recommend full bedrest until it's safer for the baby to be born but somehow I have a feeling that you're not very enthusiastic about the idea."

John nodded and sighed, subconsciously bringing a hand to the slight swell. As though attempting to shield the unborn baby from the storm inside his body. "I have a feeling that we'll be seeing each other far more frequently from now on?"

Dr. Morstan nodded with a symphaty filled small smile. "So it would seem." It was impossible to tell if her following words were meant for John or Sherlock. Her eyes seemed to be darted towards the detective who was painfully tense on his seat and barely dared to breathe properly while his brain raced a million miles per hour. It was a pure miracle that he managed to catch her words at all. "Try not to worry too much. I won't lie to you – this is going to be a bumpy ride. But I'll do whatever I can to ensure that both the daddy and the baby come out of this alright."

Sherlock wished that he would've been reassured.

* * *

During his life Sherlock hadn't met a lot of things or people he would've felt the need to protect. John understood this. On most days it warmed his heart to know that he was one of those few lucky ones. Since the visit to Dr. Morstan's office, however, the detective's fussing had been driving him downright mad.

Sherlock attempted to make it subtle, of course. (And Sherlock Holmes _did not _do very well at subtle.) A seemingly innocent question here and there. ('Is the peanut behaving?', 'Another headache?', 'Wasn't the nausea supposed to be over and done with by now?'.) A occasional touch that clearly held something he couldn't name just yet. Prolonged glances when the detective thought that he didn't notice. And perhaps the most unnerving sign of all, Sherlock was actually making sure that he ate, drank and slept enough.

John shouldn't have been surprised, considering how Sherlock had the tendency to go overboard when he truly got into something. And he wasn't. But he was quickly losing whatever little there was left of his sanity. So he decided to do something before it was too late.

One evening when Spencer had already been tucked in John made his way to the kitchen to find Sherlock rummaging through their fridge. He shivered a little, all his inner warning systems activating. "Another severed body part?" Wishful thinking, he knew.

Sherlock huffed like he'd just said something completely ridiculous. The detective seemed to drift deep into his thoughts for a while before anything was voiced. "We're out of pickles."

John couldn't resist a smile at that. "How is it that _I'm_ pregnant and _you_ get the cravings?" He then blinked once and shrugged. "But then again, it's not like anything would ever happen quite normally with us."

Sherlock shrugged as well. The fridge's door was pushed closed firmly, like there'd been something inside that might've attacked if not sealed in properly. (Perhaps there was.) "Normal is boring."

Surprisingly John found himself agreeing. It took a while until he remembered that there was a reason why he sought out his mate. "Look… There's something I need you to see." He searched through his pocket until he found a small photograph. He offered the item to his Alpha, who seemed doubtful. "It's not going to bite, you know?"

Sherlock's nose wrinkled slightly. He could see a spark of curiosity lighting up in those eyes. "I know that!" the detective grumbled, taking the photo a little bit more harshly than would've been necessary. Sharp, careful eyes scanned for a moment. And then, in a flash, widened a fraction with understanding. "Oh…!"

"That's our child, right there", John revealed softly, loving the look he'd never seen before in his mate's eyes. "Twenty-three weeks old. Alive and well."

Sherlock frowned, tearing his eyes away from the picture although it seemed to be difficult. "You went to the doctor? Alone?" The Alpha sounded slightly hurt. "When?"

John smiled apologetically. "Today. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you but the last time I took you along you almost beat up Dr. Morstan."

Something close to a pout appeared to Sherlock's face. "She was hurting you!"

John wasn't sure if he was closer to a chuckle or a groan. "She was examining me, to make sure that I wasn't dilated any further than those two centimeters." He sighed, wrapping his arms around the taller man. In an instant the baby began to kick between them, so hard that it was more than likely that Sherlock felt it as well. "Look… I know that you're worried and I understand. I'm worried, too. But all this fussing around is stressing me out, too."

Sherlock's frown deepened. The detective appeared almost lost. "What am I supposed to do?"

John smiled. It was small but honest. He tightened his hold on the other man, succeeding in making their baby kick and squirm all the more, like he or she had been attempting to break out already. "I need you to try and enjoy this. This baby is a miracle, Sherlock. I want you to make the most out of this. Do you think you could do that?"

The detective shrugged. Those eyes didn't appear so wild anymore. "I suppose."

John nodded. "Good." Then, with a sly look on his face, decided to try his luck. "I could also use a foot massage."

Sherlock snorted. It sounded suspiciously lot like a repressed chuckle. "Don't push it."

John's hand roamed, finding a spot on the detective that'd always been the most sensitive to his advances. He gave his mate a perfectly innocent look. "_Am I_ pushing it?"

John got his foot massage.

Sherlock denied it all later, of course.

* * *

For his next trip to the doctor's office John, against his better judgement, took Sherlock along. As well as Spencer. The boy had been unnervingly quiet about the whole becoming a big brother thing. Perhaps being made a part of the whole pregnancy roller coaster would make it easier for Spencer to accept the soon arriving baby.

John felt a wave of disappointment when Dr. Morstan withdrew the device from his abdomen and the sound of the baby's heartbeat vanished, as did the image on the small screen. "Well, the baby's a bit on the smaller side but appears healthy. Your blood pressure is a bit high but acceptable. The results of your blood and urinary samples also looked pretty good."

John felt something sadly rare. A flash of hope. "So… things are looking good?"

Dr. Morstan smiled and nodded. It was impressive, really, that she managed to remain so calm with Sherlock's threatening shadow looming on her, observing her every move like she'd been a bug under a microscope. "Yes, at least for now. I'd still recommend bedrest. I'll have to warn you, though – it's more than likely that this little one will be born before the due to date." She glanced towards Spencer, who hadn't uttered a sound during the whole thing. "You're going to be a big brother soon. Isn't that exciting?"

Spencer withdrew into himself, folding his arms. Nearly spilling tears and something unnamable could be seen in the boy's eyes. "No."

Sherlock cast a warning look towards their son. "Spencer…!" Oh, that was rich. Sherlock Holmes scolding someone over bad behavior…

Deciding to defuse the situation before any further drama would occur John glanced towards Dr. Morstan. "You told me that I'd have to sign some papers, didn't you? Could you go and get those for me?"

Taking the hint she nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll be back in a little bit."

As soon as the other doctor had left John focused on Spencer. "Come here, Spence." Seeing the look of hesitation he found his expression softening. "I'm not upset with you. I understand." Those words did the trick. He took a deep breath, pulling the approaching boy to his lap. Spencer didn't resist. "Look, Spence… I know that there's been a lot going on lately. I'm sorry if you feel left out."

Spencer shrugged, relaxing marginally. Slowly, slowly a tentative hand reached out towards his belly. The boy's eyes widened to a comical extend when the baby kicked.

John chuckled. "Well how about that. I think the baby just said 'Hello'."

Spencer nodded. The boy was quiet for a really long time, as though listening. Then looked at them both very seriously. "The baby wants apple pie."

John smiled fondly and pressed a chaste kiss to the child's hair. Spencer hugged him like the boy's life depended on it. "You know what, Spence? I think you're right."

* * *

Somehow they all ended up sleeping in the same bed that night. It didn't matter that it was a little too small for them. They needed each other's presence too much.

Sherlock felt content and happy as he lay there, John in his arms and their son sleeping soundly between them. So happy that it scared him. Because if there was anything he'd learned during the course of his life it was that happiness rarely lasts.

That gloomy thought was banished for a moment when John shifted just a little bit closer, burying his head to the crook of the Alpha's neck. The doctor's eyes were directed towards Spencer. "We did pretty well, didn't we?"

Sherlock nodded without a beat of hesitation. "We did", he confirmed in a hushed tone, feeling his heart swell a little. He couldn't keep himself from looking towards John's abdomen. "And we will again."

"Hmm." John rubbed his stomach, a slight frown on his face. Clearly anticipating something. "It's… probably stupid, but… I haven't felt the baby move at all since the doctor's. It worries me."

Sherlock shrugged. A small chill caused a crack on the bubble of serenity he'd managed to find earlier. "Maybe she's just resting. Or bored."

John's eyebrow arched. "'She'?"

Sherlock shrugged. To him there was no question about it. "Well, of course the baby's a girl."

John chuckled quietly. "Well, knowing you we'd better start buying pink, then." The Omega's lips remained parted for a one more second but the sound didn't come out. That didn't keep it from being heard. '_If…_'.

Sherlock shifted so that he was able to hold John even closer. He inhaled his mate's scent, imprinted absolutely everything to the corners of his mind from which they'd never, ever be deleted. He wished that he would've found the words but today his mouth failed him.

He was _not_ about to lose John or their unborn little one. Not after everything they'd been through. Not when he'd just gotten this all back. He refused to be left without his heart.

By the time his lips finally opened and he looked down the words faded away when he discovered that John was already asleep. He sighed, his shoulders slumping, and readjusted his hold on his whole damn world.

Safely hidden by shadows Sherlock did something he would've let only his tiny family see. He reached out a hand and pressed it gently against the small swell of John's stomach. The baby was instantly alerted, as though sensing him there. Firm kicks greeted him, like the unborn had been attempting to reach out for him. Sherlock swallowed, feeling a foreign lump in his throat while he began to rub soothing circles.

'_One more miracle_', John begged him once. That night Sherlock found himself doing the same.

* * *

John's body managed to hold on until he was twenty-seven weeks and two days along. That morning he woke up feeling dizzy and a headache hammering his head. The baby was kicking and moving around frantically, clearly sensing the distress his system was in long before it registered to John himself properly.

He finally began to get the picture that something was quite badly wrong when he began to see double in the bathroom. The pain that surged mercilessly into his abdomen made him double over and despite the best of efforts he unleashed a faint whimper, grabbing the edge of the sink for support.

Sherlock… Where was Sherlock? That morning… He went to the Yard, didn't he? To consult on a case. According to his note the detective had taken Spencer to Mrs. Hudson, so that the Omega would get some rest.

He… was alone.

John felt all color drain from his face. His knees went dangerously weak and if he'd had any less self control he would've fallen down right at that moment. He wondered how long it'd take him to reach his phone. Although he was almost sure that talking was no longer an option, anyway.

Just as he finally began to slide down towards the floor he heard the faint sound of the flat's door opening. Through constantly thickening blur he saw Mrs. Hudson. He couldn't really focus on her voice, didn't even manage to bring himself to make sure that Spencer was alright. Clearly gathering that something was badly wrong she dashed away to call for help.

John barely managed to register what was happening from then. Mrs. Hudson, bless her soul, kept Spencer from seeing the spectacle. There was a lot of hassle, then medics appeared and unwanted hands were all over him. He must've blacked out at some point because the next thing he was aware of was the sight of Dr. Morstan's nearly grave face.

"You'll be just fine. You got here before it was too late", she promised him. There was a hand in his. It wasn't the one he would've wanted. Her voice seemed to come from a different world. "We'll do whatever we can to make sure that the baby will be alright as well. But we need to get the baby out right now, okay?"

It was wrong, all of it. Sherlock… He was supposed to fucking be there, to see their child being born! The baby wasn't supposed to be born yet! These people, strangers… He didn't want them around him. He wanted Sherlock.

But as it turned out that matter was out of his hands. John wasn't sure if he passed out or if some sort of drugs were given to him because he was drifting away. Just before the blinding white of a OR pushed him into a hue of dark John brought a hand to his abdomen. Despite his half-unconscious state he was terrified to discover that the baby wasn't moving at all anymore. There wasn't a trace of life left.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear…! (winces) Those poor things. Let's just hope that this all ends well. This family's already been through so much.

PLEASE, leave a note! Good? Bad? Lukewarm? Awww, c'mon, you'd totally make my day. (gives puppy's eyes)

IN THE NEXT ONE: The baby is born but the turmoil is by no means over. Will the small family be granted a one more miracle? Are they headed for a happy ending or a tragedy?

ONLY TWO MORE TO GO! I really hope that you'll all stay with this story for those.

Until next time! 'Hope you'll join in for that one.

Take care!

* * *

**Guest**: I totally agree with you there! But seriously, let's hope that everything IS going to be okay. (sighs)

After such shocks Spencer definitely needed some professional help. 'Glad to hear that you agree! That little family is so adorable when they're together, aren't they? (grins)

Massive thank yous for the review! I'm overjoyed to hear that you've enjoyed the story thus far.


	15. Hope

A/N: Yup, I'm back with another chapter! (grins) Ah, this one's very, very close to the end. It's going to be so sad to let this go. (sobs)

BUT, let's not get ahead of ourselves. THANK YOU, so much, for all your reviews and listings! (HUGS) For you guys I'm working my hardest to make this worth your while.

Awkay… Because there's about a million things I'm supposed to do today (winces) let's get going. I really hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

* * *

Hope

* * *

/ _Sherlock's whole body was trembling pitiably while he stood on the rooftop, staring with moist, helpless eyes as John rushed to the scene. It felt like the end of the world. For a moment he wondered if he was actually dying. "This phone call… It's my note."_

_Memories, such that'd be storaged into his Mind Palace forever, rushed by while he stood there. Fully prepared to let go, to fall into the shadows. Hopefully for only a moment. He hoped – _hoped_, because he wasn't a praying man – that one day he'd get to come back. And that if he ever got the chance to return his family would still be his. That John wouldn't let go as well._

_Tears he wasn't proud of shone like diamonds. "Goodbye, John."_

_Because, really, it was the end._

_And the beginning._ /

* * *

Sherlock's heart was hammering madly when he rushed into a hospital that very morning, his thoughts spinning a million miles per hour. The useless people he ran into at first couldn't or refused to tell him a damn thing. Apparently it wasn't enough that John was the only person he'd ever fall in love with and that the doctor was giving birth to the their child almost thirteen fucking weeks too early. Sherlock was almost sure that he punched someone along the way. He sure as hell hoped that he did.

He'd probably terrified half of the ward until Dr. Morstan's familiar voice sounded. "Leave him alone! Sherlock, calm down or I'll have you sedated!"

Sherlock looked towards her immediately, not even noticing that the others left with apparent hesitation. "Where's John?" he demanded instantly. "How is he?"

"He lost a lot of blood and he's still unconscious. But he's stable and his blood pressure is finally on the way down." She gave him a cautious little smile. "Barring any complications he should recover rather well. Right now he's resting in a private room your brother arranged for him."

Sherlock felt some of the weight sitting on his chest disappear. But he was by no means soothed. "What… about the baby?"

Dr. Morstan clearly wasn't sure where to begin. "He gave birth to a tiny girl." Her shoulders slumped. Something that scared him appeared to her eyes. "Sherlock… You need to understand that she's quite premature. John was only…"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, sending a sharp threat. "I know fucking well how far along John was! What I want to know is if our daughter is alright."

Dr. Morstan sighed, not the slightest bit startled. "She has some problems with breathing, which was only to be expected with how premature she is. What other problems there may be… I'm sorry, but we just don't know yet. Right now we'll just have to take one step at a time beside her." Seeing the look of mistrust on his face she went on, her voice much softer than before. "She's in the NICU, and I promise that the people there will do absolutely everything they can for her. I'll let you know when you can see her. You need to trust us."

Sherlock nodded, folding his arms. While he'd been furious and scared out of his mind moments earlier at the moment he was only numb. Like he'd been somehow detached from his body. From the nightmare at hand.

Once again he was unable to protect his family when they would've needed him the most. Once again all he could do was hope and wait. For any Alpha that was unacceptable.

"John." It took a moment before he realized that the voice came from him. Hard as he tried he couldn't tell what kind of a look there was in his eyes when he stared at the doctor intently. "Take me to him." He couldn't even go and see his newborn daughter just yet, couldn't do a bloody thing to help her. But he could at least be there for his mate, which was something he'd failed to do far too often.

He had a feeling that it was against all hospital policies but after a deep sigh Dr. Morstan began to lead him towards John's room.

* * *

To Sherlock it felt like forever passed by. The ever restless soul he was he paced around John's room, his eyes never leaving his Omega for longer than a couple of seconds. Every now and then members of the staff visited the room but they didn't have even one tenth of the answers he would've desperately wanted.

At four hours, eighteen minutes and ten seconds he remembered Spencer. Casting a one more look towards John he left the room although it was the last thing he wanted to do and headed to a corner where he wouldn't be chastised over using his cell phone.

Mrs. Hudson picked up instantly. "_Goodness me, Sherlock…! You have no idea of how worried I've been._" She then sighed. "_Now tell me, how are things?_"

Sherlock gulped laboriously, a foreign stinging sensation taking over his eyes. It wasn't until then he discovered how badly his hands were trembling. "They… They're fighting. Both of them."

He couldn't identify the sound coming from Mrs. Hudson's end. "_Good. That's good._"

A barely audible, tiny whimper erupted from Sherlock's throat and he clasped a hand to his mouth to smother it.

Too late. Mrs. Hudson gave a sound of sympathy. "_Oh, dear…_"

"Spencer… He's asleep, no?" Sherlock hurried to interrupt. He gritted his teeth, struggling so hard that his muscles spasmed. "When he wakes up… Tell him that he has a little sister. Tell him that I'm doing whatever I can to make sure that she and daddy will be okay."

"_I will._" The phone was already several centimeters from his ear when she went on. "_And dear? Things are going to work out. I promise._"

Sherlock hung up without any further pleasantries. A few seconds later, once he'd wiped his eyes roughly, he called back to say that he was sorry for hanging up on her. He hung up again without giving her the chance to say a word.

He went back to John's room just as the doctor was starting to wake up. In an instant the Omega's hand wandered to the recently cut open stomach and a grimace of pain appeared at the contact. A couple of seconds later a mourn filled moan erupted as understanding dawned.

Sherlock was absolutely helpless when it came to these situations. But he did understand that his mate needed him, desperately. And so he moved, taking John's hand into his before the doctor ended up causing damage. "You just went through a emergency operation so take it easy."

John didn't seem to be paying attention. The Omega's eyes were frantic as they found his. "The baby… Sherlock, where's the baby? Where's our child?"

Sherlock fidgeted, not having the slightest clue of how to say this. How his mate was going to take this. "We… We have a daughter, John. Just like I knew all along. She's… She came very early. But she's hanging in there. She's a tough one, I'm telling you."

For a very long, chilling moment John stared into nothing, like he hadn't been present in the world around them anymore. Muscles became so stiff that the man began to shiver violently. Just before Sherlock pressed the 'call' button the doctor whispered in a barely audible voice. "I… I need to see her." Those eyes meeting his would've cracked anyone's resolve. "Please, take me to her."

Sherlock frowned. Of course he was eager to meet their child as well, but… "You do remember that you just woke up, don't you? Are you… sure that you're up to…?"

John's eyes narrowed dangerously. The hand the detective had been holding squeezed back with a painful force. "Take me to her… or I'll crawl there myself. I swear."

Sherlock stared for a couple of seconds, all too aware of the determination in those blazing eyes. It offered a hint of comfort. At least the Omega was still fighting. "Fine, fine. But if you pass out or come up with something equally troublesome you'll be the one doing the explaining."

Making sure that none of the nurses bustling around noticed Sherlock snatched a wheelchair that'd been abandoned to the hallway. As soon as he returned to the room John expertedly silenced the monitors attached to him and fought his way out of the bed, all but collapsing into Sherlock's arms along the way. It took all the Alpha had not to scold his mate over taxing his body but the despair in the Omega's eyes silenced him.

They both needed to see their little angel.

Under different circumstances the NICU would've been a carnival for Sherlock. All those machines, medical mysteries – a lot of material for experiments. Seeing the two of them the staff gave long looks but none of them had the heart to chase them away.

Eventually a very young looking nurse with shortcut black hair and warm blue eyes approached. _Iris_, her bunny shaped nametag announced. "You must be John and Sherlock." Seeing the confused, wary looks she explained. "Your daughter has wrapped every member of this ward's staff around her little finger. She's a real trooper."

Before Sherlock got the chance to snarl something a great deal harsher John beat him to speaking. "How is she?" The doctor's voice trembled ever so slightly. Sherlock would've desperately wanted to take at least a part of that pain away.

"You need to let me know if this is too much, alright?" Iris sighed. "Her bilirubin level is a bit high but that's already being fixed. As was to be expected she'll have some difficulties with breathing for a while. For now there's a machine helping her out. Her digestion system is still a bit premature so she'll have some problems with consuming food."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. His mind deducing, no matter how hard he attempted to silence it. "You're still hiding something."

Iris gritted her teeth before continuing. Clearly this was something she wouldn't have wanted them to know just yet. "There's… a possibility that she has a hole in her heart. But it hasn't been confirmed yet, alright? So let's cross that bridge when it comes."

Sherlock shuddered like he'd been punched. John… did something much more heartbreaking. The soldier, who'd managed to hold himself together remarkably well so far, shivered for a while. Eyes wide and glassy, face ashen. Then, barely audible at first, a sob slipped out while the man buried his face into his hands.

Instantly wrapping his arms comfortingly around his mate and trying not to wince at how hard the former soldier clung to him Sherlock shot a glare at Iris when her lips parted. She nodded, seeming to understand.

It took what felt like ages before John managed to compose himself. There was still a somewhat haunted look in the man's eyes. "Our daughter… We want to see her."

Iris nodded, gesturing for them to follow. She led them to a incubator that'd been placed to the pretty much calmest place of the room. They didn't even notice how the nurse left them alone. All they had eyes for was the baby. _Their _baby.

Seeing their tiny, innocent daughter – who could've easily fit into one of Sherlock's hands – in her incubator was a heartbreaking, rattling experience. There she lay, her left foot twitching slightly as though she'd been dreaming. Lay, slept on, struggling with absolutely every single inch of her heart and soul.

Sherlock swallowed, a lump appearing into his throat. He would've given _anything_ if he'd been allowed to… "She's… quite something", he murmured almost inaudibly.

"Yeah. She is." John's hand trembled when the former soldier wiped his eyes, shaking in the wheelchair. If the man wouldn't have been sitting he would've most likely crashed right down to the floor. (Sherlock, at very least, sure felt like crashing down.) After what felt like ages the Omega glanced briefly towards him. "I… I think that she should be given a name, just in case…" The doctor's breath hitched. "And, well… Since you weren't there to name Spencer…"

Any other day Sherlock might've melted at those words. He stared at their daughter intently. Decided that she was stunningly beautiful despite the yellow of her skin and all those tubes and machines attached to her. "She's Hope", he murmured in a voice that didn't sound familiar. "Hope Catherine Watson."

"Watson-Holmes." It took a moment before he realized that John's quiet voice hadn't echoed only inside his head. The doctor wasn't looking at him but there was something that roused dangerous wishes in the man's warm eyes. "Her name is Hope Catherine Watson-Holmes."

Right there, in the middle of all the terror, pain and uncertainty, Sherlock found himself smiling ever so slightly. _Hope_. It sounded so very right.

Slowly, testing waters, he slipped his hand into John's and dared to squeeze slightly. After a second of hesitation John held back tightly. Not another word was needed while they remained there, guarding their daughter's sleep. Together.

Outside dawn was breaking.

* * *

The road on was far from easy. John recovered slowly but refused to accept that his body needed more time, which resulted to his stitches being pulled twice and the doctor collapsing three times. John knew that he was being stupid but he didn't care. His family, especially his daughter, needed him. He didn't have the time to lay around sleeping.

At the grand age of four days Hope went into a brief cardiac arrest that sure as hell stopped John's heart as well. Almost at the same instant they got her heart beating once more she was rushed into a surgery. On that day, ignoring the fact that his still sore body wasn't quite ready for such stimulation yet, John went on his way. As he left behind Sherlock who announced that he had something important to do he tried to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth.

John ended up to the hospital's chapel. He stared at the cross above the altar for a long time, his eyes so blurry that he could barely see. Then, clutching his head so hard that he was almost pulling off hair, he prayed for the first time since the battle field.

_Please… Let her…!_

It took an hour before he felt composed enough to return to his room. He didn't expect to find news for the doctor had made it clear that Hope's surgery would take hours. He didn't. Still his eyes widened.

Greg, Sarah and Harry were there, as was Mrs. Hudson. Even Mycroft had arrived, stood in a corner like a shadow, keeping a careful eye on everything and everyone. And, of course, two thirds of his family was there.

As soon as the boy spotted him Spencer rushed on, flung himself into his arms with a force that made John wince when his wound was assaulted. "I missed you, daddy", the child murmured. "I missed you a lot."

John sighed, holding on to his son as tightly as he dared to. "I missed you too, Spence." He then looked around, slightly confused. "What… are you all doing here?"

"Sherlock called, told us what's going on", Greg revealed. There was genuine sympathy, not pity, in the man's eyes. "Where else are we supposed to be?"

Despite the terror roaming everywhere in his body John just had to smile at that. When Sherlock made his way slowly to him he nuzzled his cheek against his mate's. His whisper was so quiet that the others couldn't possibly catch it. "I thought that you don't do social gatherings."

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't", the detective confirmed resolutely. "But you needed it."

At that moment John did something that stunned them both. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Sherlock's, sealing the detective into a warm, tender kiss. This time it wasn't lust or animalistic need. It was sheer, pure love.

Without noticing it they kept holding hands until after what felt like a decade a doctor ('_Hahn, W. MD_') appeared, visibly surprised by the crowd gathered into the room. After exactly three endless seconds Dr. Hahn melted to a smile. Their little girl was still fighting.

While John was busy with a visibly excited Spencer, who wanted to know every little detail about the hospital and his sister, and the rest of the visitors observed with amusement Greg pulled Sherlock to the side. Their eyes met. Hesitant, evaluating.

In the end Greg sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look… What happened between John and me…"

"A thing in the past." Sherlock's eyes were hazardous, though. "But just so you know… If something like that happens ever again they'll never find your body."

Greg shivered. He had absolutely no doubt about that. "Duly noted." He glanced towards John, his jaw tightening. "You'd better take a damn good care of him, Sherlock. He deserves it."

Sherlock's eyes darkened. "Trust me, I know."

"Good."

They lapsed into a somewhat comfortable silence, both of them deep in thought.

* * *

It'd been clear from the start that John would get to go home much before his daughter. But _nothing_ could've prepared him for actually facing that day. That ache.

Greg had seemingly spontaneously decided to take Spencer outside for a moment, which left just John and Sherlock. The doctor's legs were infuriatingly weak and wobbly as he entered the flat, despite the turmoil his head and heart were in feeling his mate's worry when the man trailed behind him. Almost as though in daze he made his way on, until he froze to a certain room's doorway.

There, in a room that used to be just Spencer's but would soon be Hope's as well, everything was set for the baby's arrival. Toys for a tiny girl, a crib… Everything was ready. And there was no baby to bring there. Not yet.

"John?"

John couldn't even hear his mate. His body was shaking uncontrollably while his eyes welled up. He didn't realize that he'd been holding his breath until he was forced to take a long, shuddering inhale.

Just as he was about to crumble a pair of strong arms wrapped around him, pulled him close to a heart that was beating determinedly. "Soon, John", Sherlock murmured. "I promise."

John remained frozen for a moment. Then, very slowly, his hand slid up until it covered one of Sherlock's. Almost tentatively Sherlock's finger moved so that it was rubbing his hand.

"I love you", John breathed out, realizing that it was the first time since the infamous fall he spoke those words to his mate.

Sherlock was stunned into silence for a moment, which was almost amusing. Then, so softly that he could've easily missed it, the detective responded. "Yes, well. Me, too. Always."

Out of nowhere the smallest of smiles found its way to John's lips. Things were still chaotic. There was a cloud of uncertainty hanging above their future. But somehow he managed to breathe freely. That was a start.

* * *

A few days later Hope's condition was so stable that the parents decided to introduce her to a more than eager Spencer. The little boy was visibly shaken by the hospital environment. "It's alright", John promised. "Go on and meet her. I bet that she's excited to meet her brother."

At first hesitant and wary, almost scared, Spencer approached his sister slowly. Once stood by the incubator the boy stared at Hope long and hard, as though imprinting every little detail to his mind. After almost a full minute a smile appeared while he pressed a small hand to the surface separating him from the baby. "She's pretty."

The parents smiled. "Yes", John agreed softly. "She is."

After a moment Spencer looked back at them, appearing worried. "Do I have to teach her all my magic tricks?"

"Of course not", Sherlock replied instantly, with conviction. "She'll learn her own."

Spencer nodded, clearly satisfied with the answer. "Good."

While Spencer focused on Hope, babbling something that the adults couldn't really keep up with, John and Sherlock joined hands without really noticing it. Their fingers lacing together easily, like they'd belonged that way. Somehow it felt like the world had slipped back into place.

Their family was finally together. All of it, scarred and bruised but fighting. Things weren't perfect but at least they had each other. Maybe that was just how it was supposed to be.

* * *

TBC, for an epilogue

* * *

A/N: Oh dear. They're little family is together. Let's just hope that they'll get the happy ending they'd so very much deserve. (sighs)

PLEASE, leave a note! Good, bad, blaaaah? How 'bout some delicious cyber ice cream for your efforts…? (winks)

IN THE NEXT ONE: Five jump five years ahead in time. What's become of our little family?

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll all stay tuned for that one.

Take care!


	16. Epilogue

A/N: Oh gosh… I seriously can't believe that this is the very last chapter, and that it's already here. (sighs and wipes eyes)

First off, thank you so much for all your reviews for the previous chapter! (BEAMS) You can't even imagine how happy they make me. So thank you!  
Awkay… (takes a breath) The time has come, hasn't it? I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the concluding piece of this one.

* * *

Epilogue

* * *

_Five Years Later_

* * *

Ever since Dr. John Watson set his foot on a war zone he knew that he was different. It felt like the ability to endure the chaos and madness of a war had been built into his system. It was his home. Since day one he suspected that a time of peace would never be enough for him. That's why he thought that his life, for what it was worth, was over when a bullet tore through his shoulder and a grim doctor announced him that he wouldn't serve in active duty anymore.

But, as it turned out, the war found him again.

It came to him in the middle of London.

Sherlock found him.

From the moment their eyes met for the very first time John realized that the detective's war just became his. He wasn't startled, oh no. His heart rejoiced.

He was finally home.

John wasn't sure how long he'd been drifting in the land of memories – like some kind of a sentimental old fool – until his eyes focused on what was right before him. He allowed it to wash over him in a flood of warmth. A smile made its way to his lips.

Only steps away Sherlock and Spencer seemed to be focused on some sort of a scientific experiment. Trust Spencer to inherit that habit from his pa. John had long since lost count on how many times he'd been called to have a talk with the headmaster of his son's school, most often to learn another story of the boy's experiments in a class room. That was, at least, until the school finally listened to John's pleas and allowed Spencer to skip two whole classes. Finally a lot less bored the boy began to shine academically. Although, of course, never got over his 'purely scientific curiosity'. (Were those Sherlock's words or Spencer's? John didn't remember.) Without a doubt their son would be something very, very special. And a Omega, which became clear on the boy's seventh birthday. It was a fact that sometimes terrified John senseless, in a world where his and Sherlock's kind were frowned upon, but his mate told him firmly that it was pointless and stupid to worry. And Sherlock would, of course, tear anyone who'd ever dare to harm their son to little pieces. John might very well join him.

Hope, on the other hand, was their little ray of sunshine. The piece that made the puzzle of their family complete. After several intense, exhausting months they finally got their princess home from the hospital. That day's excitement was only dimmed by the knowledge that despite the doctors' best attempts Hope would never, ever see a thing. She was extremely bright but physically she would always be a special needs child. While her heart had been fixed once it was uncertain how long things would remain stable. On top of all else she had a very strict diet for her stomach couldn't contain everything, along with a lot of allergies and asthma. John (and Sherlock as well, although the detective would've never admitted it) had spent several sleepless nights with thoughts of what the future might hold for her. How long they'd get to keep her. As it was she was thriving. Running around as well as her lungs and heart allowed her to, often ending up bruised. Always happy and positive. John couldn't remember that he would've seen her cry even when she was a baby. With her long, golden and slightly curly hair and angel's face she was a true beauty. There was no one who would've laid their eyes on her and not loved her. The parents did what they could to ensure that for as long as she'd be with them she'd have as full of a life as possible. They were already studying Braille to be able to teach her and to their surprise Spencer had joined the studies. ('_I want to see it like Hope does. To understand_', the boy insisted.)

They were inseparable, those siblings. Like twins do sometimes they'd even developed their own special language with which they whispered when they thought that no one noticed. Sherlock was, of course, beyond proud. So was John.

John took a breath, focusing his attention on his mate. He was sadly aware of the fact that those shadows may never leave Sherlock's eyes. Whatever happened during those three long years – because he probably didn't know even half of it – scarred the detective so deeply that the wounds would never fade away completely. There were night terrors. Panic attacks. Long, horrendous occasions in which Sherlock simply disappeared and came back a day, sometimes several days, later looking worse for wear but calmer. Always refusing to say a word and not wanting to be touched for hours afterwards. Those three years… A small part of the Sherlock John got to know faded away during them. Their relationship changed permanently and sometimes they fought bitterly, wounds and frustration taking over, wiping all else from sight. But as much of Sherlock as possible was back. Slowly yet surely John found himself starting to believe that. With a past like his Sherlock was no natural parent or mate (hell, neither of them was!) but the detective was trying, with all his might. Their children could see that, even during the worst of days when pain and nightmares became unleashed. Because in good days – such as this one – they got the chance to see the man their daddy fell in love with.

John himself… Not all of him came back from the wars he'd been thrown into. He had trust issues. Nightmares that came to visit almost every night. There were days when his hands wouldn't stop shaking and he couldn't shed the feeling that there was a rope wrapped around his throat. When his fears got the best of him. But at least he was able to smile again. He was… actually happy. Very, very happy. He'd survived. Perhaps the rest would sort itself out.

All of a sudden every single one of John's nerves tingled with alert and he turned his head just in time to see that Hope was brushing the trunk of a tree with her fingertips, clearly trying to calculate if she'd be able to climb it. His eyes narrowed. "Hope, step away from that tree right now or you won't get any of Mrs. Hudson's cookies when we get back home!"

Hope pouted. Good grief, why did _both _of their children have to inherit that from Sherlock! "But daddy…"

John was far closer to bursting into giggles than he would've cared to admit. She'd be a handful when she'd grow older, this one. "None of that, young lady." He pushed himself up slowly, with far more effort than he'd expected. He wondered how much longer he'd manage to run around after Sherlock. "Now come here, I'll give that scratch on your arm a look."

Hope obeyed without a hint of hesitation. John kept humming softly so that she'd know where he was until she was safely in his arms. As he'd suspected the scratch was just that, nothing overly worrying. He'd clean it up and put a bandaid on it once they were home.

John brushed his daughter's hair gently with his hand, breathing a little more easily. He wished that she would've been able to see his smile. "You'll be just fine, princess. Now you need to be careful so you won't damage that pretty face." Oh, if only she'd been able to see how beautiful she was. It was incredibly hard not to be over protective of her, not to shield her from the evils of the world.

Hope giggled, and the sound was just like John's own. Then, without pausing to think, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll be okay, daddy. I promise."  
John's heart clenched and for a moment he thought that he shed tears. Looking up, however, he discovered that at some point clouds had gathered to the sky and it was starting to rain. He heard a thunder somewhere in the distance.

He glanced towards Sherlock and Spencer to discover that they hadn't noticed the change in the weather. Not a huge surprise. When the minds of those two wrapped around something… "Oi, you two!" He used a great deal more volume than would've been necessary. It worked. Those looks he got were twin frowns of annoyance. John had to fight the temptation to take his cell phone to get a picture. "Let's go back home before we'll all catch colds. I know exactly what the two of you are like when you're ill."

Reluctantly abandoning their experiment, which apparently had something to do with snails, they made their way to him and Hope. In an instant Spencer took his sister's hand, with such protectiveness and gentleness that tugged John's heart strings. "Daddy?" The boy's eyes were full of excitement. "When we get home can you finish the story of Belgravia? Pa tried but he can't tell it right."

Was that a pout? With Sherlock it was hard to tell. "Hey!"

John smirked, memories he'd thought buried coming to life. "Oh, don't worry", he assured his son. "I'll tell the story just the way it is."

Once they could be sure that the siblings weren't listening in on them Sherlock glanced towards him. It was probably supposed to be a glare but it was much too soft to be one. "If you tell them _everything_ we did in the palace…"

John rolled his eyes, a blush rising to his cheeks. That was, without a doubt, the most embarrassing heat in his entire life. And the most mind blowing. No wonder Sherlock stole him an ashtray. "I wouldn't want to traumatize them for life. This family's already been through more than enough therapy sessions."

"Indeed."

Watching their children babbling on excitedly, finishing each other's sentences and once again using a language that didn't sound quite like English, John slipped his hand into Sherlock's. The detective squeezed back without hesitating for even a second and after thinking about it for a moment pressed a kiss to his lips. The lingering feeling the kiss left was warm and comforting, full of promises. John smiled, licking his lips.

Their life wasn't perfect, heavens no. But John had never believed in perfection. The four of them were _together_, their family was complete. They were healing, adjusting and facing the world, living. The rest… well, that was all details. They'd face the future as it came.

"You know…", Sherlock spoke all of a sudden. "Lestrade just texted me. He's got a case for us. Are you interested?"

"Oh god yes!"

_Baby steps_, John told himself. _Baby steps._

* * *

**_End._**

* * *

A/N: Oh…! I just can't believe that this is all over, now. It's been such a fun ride! (wipes eyes and pouts)

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for sticking through until the very end. It's been super great to type for you. (GLOMPS) Thank you for the reviews, listings and love! You guys rock, seriously.

**HERE'S A THOUGHT. **I've been thinking about making a 'deleted scenes' drabble collection of this fic. Would you have any ideas of scenes that might be typed in?

Also, I'm toying with the idea of making a 'Sherlock'/'Criminal Minds' x-cover. How'd you feel about that?

BUT, as for this one… Once again, thank you! Who knows, maybe I'll be seeing you around later.

Take care!


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